


Spoilers

by comeonandrockmyfandom, SnarkyBreeze



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Conspiracy, Eloping, End of the World, Fixed Points in Time (Doctor Who), Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Knives, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mortal Peril Will Not Stop Katsuki Yuuri's Thirst, Murder, Temporal Paradox, Victuuri Big Bang 2018, angst and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-06 21:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16395656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comeonandrockmyfandom/pseuds/comeonandrockmyfandom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyBreeze/pseuds/SnarkyBreeze
Summary: Yuuri is a hereditary Roamer, a mutant who exists on a different timeline. His love for figure skating has led him to a career competing on the international level, but when interacting with his fans and fellow competitors causes him too much anxiety, he’s forced to retire.  At least at home in Hasetsu, surrounded by his Roamer family, he doesn’t have to worry about discrimination or, more importantly, paradoxes that could rip holes in the fabric of time.However, after a mysterious stranger with silver hair appears at the onsen and saves his life, Yuuri finds himself thrown back into the world of competitive skating - and into the sights of a radical faction of Roamers who, for some unknown reason, want him dead.All the while, the clock is ticking towards some unspoken event in Beijing, and Yuuri can’t stop running into that handsome silver-haired stranger...





	1. Hasetsu (Y1V7)

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first bang fic!!
> 
> Special thanks to my artist, [comeonandrockmyfandom](http://comeonandrockmyfandom.tumblr.com), and also to izzyisozaki and postingpebbles, two amazing betas who took the time to help me make the best of some seriously indecipherable ideas and make them into something I'm proud of. You guys are the greatest!
> 
>  
> 
> Translations are in hover-text.

_ (Y1V?) I can say without question that it was the worst day of my life—but it was the best day of my life, too, before the bad part.  From the moment he arrived, he never ceased to surprise me. He was like a beacon of hope for a future filled with life and love when I thought I’d been condemned to loneliness and monotony. _

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Yuuri, please come shovel snow!”

_ Snow already?  It’s April! _ Yuuri thought as he slid out of bed with a groan.  His head hurt. He had been feeling more and more sluggish since he moved home, finding himself less and less motivated to skate.  It wasn’t entirely bad; helping Mom and Dad with the physical labor around the inn was keeping him moving, at least, and nothing beat being able to sample Mom’s katsudon whenever he wanted.

It was early; barely even light when Yuuri trudged out into the front garden to clear it of snow and ice.  The cold air stung against his cheeks, and he remembered how Yuuko always said the cold weather really creeps up on you.  He’d never been able to relate. Yesterday had been in the 20s, and today was a chilly 15. Of course, yesterday had been May.  He had never been able to get used to changes in weather with his condition. Sundays were jarring, a sobering reminder of who he was.

His stomach growled.  He really should have eaten breakfast before he started chores.  Thankfully, once the loading driveway was cleared, the rest was achievable with just a little rock salt.  Mouth watering at the thought of the breakfast he was going to make, he made his way back inside, kicking his snow-caked boots against the threshold as he passed through it.

Immediately he was knocked to the ground by a something large and furry which busied itself with his glasses and his socks and his face and ears, sniffing cold sniffs and pawing excitedly at his chest.

“V-Vicchan?”  Yuuri muttered, steadying the dog’s face in his hands to get a good look at it.  The dog could not contain the tail-wagging joy his touch elicited. “No… too big.  You’re so cute though!”

“Isn’t he?” Yuuri’s dad chuckled from his perch behind the front desk.  “He came in while you were shoveling over in deliveries, along with a very handsome foreign guest!”  Dad raised his eyebrows suggestively, sending Yuuri into an embarrassed coughing fit.

“Dad!” he sputtered, barely looking up from this adorable replica of his beloved puppy.  “You know I can’t just… What if he’s not…”

“I just don’t want you to be so lonely, son.” Dad tutted, going back to his paperwork.  “I know it’s hard. But you won’t find out if someone is a Roamer until you talk to them!”

Yuuri did not want to endure another relationships talk with his father.  It was beyond embarrassing and touched a little too accurately at his own fears.  Dad was lucky. By the time he and Mom were born, the world was an incredibly accepting place for…  _ people like him _ .  But times had changed; he remembers people beginning to advocate for Roamers long ago, when he was in grade school.  Things weren’t like that anymore. Things weren’t like that yet. It was easier to just not open up.

He scratched the dog behind the ears one last time and decided to warm himself in the hot springs before he fixed his breakfast.  His head hurt. He needed to relax.

Bitter thoughts started to creep up as he showered, and Yuuri did his best to swallow them down as best he could.  He was not ashamed of who he was. He wasn’t scared of others. Hell, he was the first of his family to even attempt working outside Katsuki Yu-topia.  Of course, the pressure of competing mixed with the mandated separation from his fellow competitors—a precaution taken by the ISU to ensure that information about future scores wouldn’t leak—had sent him into more than one debilitating anxiety spiral and had resulted in more than a handful of disappointing scores.

And so here he was, practically idling away his days at the inn, not sure if he would ever go anywhere else.  There was always the village, he supposed, but the people of Hasetsu were proud and protective of their Katsukis. It was practically an extension of being at home.  He could skate with Yuuko and Takeshi, the loving family whose daughters had once been his devoted babysitters and skating instructors. They’d switched roles as of late, with Yuuri taking the girls to the rink on date nights.  He made sure to only work on techniques their parents had already taught them, per a running list Yuuko kept on the whiteboard in the office. Every week that list got shorter and shorter. The diligent tracking was a small but important precaution.  If he taught the triplets anything that they would end up teaching him when they’re older the information could wind up unsourced… a paradox. Paradoxes were pesky when little, like the skipping of a scratched CD, but they could be flat out dangerous if they were serious enough, so Yuuri took no chances.

He would take no chances with a handsome guest, either.  He wouldn’t even be able to tell them anything about himself.

The hot spring was quiet when he entered, and the steam immediately fogged his glasses.  It wasn’t until he’d already removed his towel and slipped noiselessly into the water that he discovered he wasn’t alone.  He tipped his glasses up and squinted at the figure, bristling when he saw a cascade of shiny silver-blond hair and broad, strong shoulders.

_ Please don’t come over, please don’t talk to me… please don’t come over, please don’t talk to me… _

Despite his hopeful incantation, the figure stood and Yuuri let his vision go blurry, gazing off into the snowy-gray sky, practiced as he was in the art of not catching sight of anything particularly intimate.  He drifted comfortably out-of-focus as the guest approached him.

“Yuuri, sweetie, I wondered when you’d find me here,” the man purred, deep voice resonant and rounded at the edges by a thick Russian accent. Yuuri’s insides turned to ice despite the steam rising in clouds all around him. 

God, this was going to be complicated.  He kept his gaze against the featureless sky, thankful when he heard his guest sit down next to him.

“Um,” Yuuri mumbled, venturing a glance at the other man now that he had a closer, safer look.   _ God, he is beautiful, _ he thought. The man’s face, half-hidden behind his silver bangs, was gorgeous, all chiseled angles and porcelain skin and eyelashes like the wispy lines of frost that painted themselves across the windows each winter.  “I’m sorry… It looks like you’ve met me before?”

He hoped that conveyed enough, hoped he was smart enough in the future to warn whoever this was that one day he’ll stumble upon this first meeting—that one day, unexpectedly, he may find himself confronted by a Yuuri who’s never seen him before.  He hoped, if this man understood, that he’d seen it coming with enough time to come to terms with it. He really hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to let someone—especially a non-Roamer—close to him knowing they’d have to lose him.

But the sadness that softened those piercing blue eyes told Yuuri all he needed to know.  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, sinking lower into the water. His head throbbed.

A hand that was every bit as soft as this man looked squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up to find teary compassion in the other man’s face.  

“I’m Viktor,” his guest said in that low rumble.  “I—” his voice hitched a little and he rolled his eyes in frustration, and Yuuri felt his heart shatter.  Viktor pressed a finger to his lips, composing himself, and then rasped, “It’s nice to meet you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that just a minute ago, this man called him  _ sweetie _ .  He reached out and took Viktor’s hand.  “The pleasure is mine,” he said with a half-smile.  “Um…” he started, but Viktor cut him off.

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you,” he said seriously.  “I know that. I have a whole… I have been keeping track, but…” The hand on Yuuri’s shoulder squeezed a little tighter; he should have been uncomfortable with it, but he was too distracted, too intrigued by this sudden introduction.  Viktor swallowed back another little sob. “I’d been having kind of a rough day, and… It’s really nice to see you, is all.”

Yuuri knew how hard it must have been for him.  He’d gone through it on more than one occasion himself, running into a friend only to find that they no longer had any clue who he was.  The first time it happened was heartbreaking, the tenth time was hard; by now he’d had enough practice to remind himself gently that he could be happy for them.  Happy to remember the friendship they’d had, and to think that his friend would be experiencing it anew from there on out.

Viktor didn’t look like he’d had any practice, and sympathy clawed at Yuuri’s chest.

“Are you planning on staying long?” he asked, bringing a hand up and resting it apprehensively on top of Viktor’s.  “I have a few days before I jump back again.”

Somewhere beneath his sad eyes, Viktor’s expression brightened a bit.  The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he whispered, “Thank you.”

Yuuri warmed at the little smile.  “I came in here intending to just warm up before some breakfast,” he said, turning his shoulders a bit in Viktor’s direction, begging his attention for a moment.  He hoped his expression was reassuring. “Would you like to join me?”

The smile all but tripled in size.  “I’d love to,” Viktor hummed. “I love Mam—uh,—Hiroko-san’s cooking.”

Viktor spent the duration of breakfast studying Yuuri, cautious and silent, as his eggs went more or less untouched.  Yuuri, on the other hand, found himself famished upon emerging from the hot springs, and although he shoveled omelet into his mouth, hardly stopping to breathe, he was doing some studying of his own.

Something about the way this man looked at him made Yuuri feel…  _ amazing _ .  Special.  One of the first things Viktor had said to him was a fairly unambiguous term of endearment, he moved around Yuuri with no apprehension as if he expected nothing but comfort in return, and there was a look in his eyes as the two men watched each other over their meal that was unmatched by anything Yuuri had ever seen before.  A golden wedding band gleamed on his right hand. Yuuri knew he couldn’t ask, he could only hope, but  _ god _ , he wanted to ask. This was the most interesting person to come into his life in a long time.

Dad walked by carrying a shipment of eggs from the Yamadas’ farm, casting a knowing glance over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. Yuuri would have to admonish him later.

“So,” Viktor said, snapping Yuuri’s attention back to present.  He was still staring wistfully across the table. Draped loosely in a green linen jinbei, reclining with long limbs sprawled across the floor, he was picturesque.  “I was wondering… if you would skate with me today,” he posited, drumming his fingers on the table.

Yuuri ducked his head, feeling the familiar heat spread across his cheeks.

“Oh,” he gulped, “I, uh… I don’t know.”

The stare he received in return was expectant, then panicked.  “Yuuri… you do still… you skate, right?”

Yuuri let his silence speak for him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor urged, leaning so far across the table that Yuuri had to straighten his back so their foreheads weren’t touching.  “Come with me to the Ice Castle. There’s something I want to show you.”

Half an hour later, Yuuri found himself lacing up his skates for the first time in almost a week. He and Viktor had talked the entire fifteen-minute jog to Hasetsu Ice Castle, touching on everything from dogs, to favorite cuisines, to Russian ballet, to life at the inn. 

They were still deep in discussion as they stepped out onto the ice, Yuuri not quite sure what he was doing or why it made his heart drum against his ribcage. For a while, the two men traced lazy figures around the rink, locked in a heated debate about the disparity between the Harry Potter books and movies and how it changed the themes of the story, swerving haphazardly to avoid running into one another as they rounded corners.

Viktor was slowly prodding his way into Yuuri’s space, catching his gaze when he could, risking little questioning touches on the shoulder and the forearm as they moved around one another. Yuuri found himself shying away less and less, warming up to the refreshingly welcoming physicality of…  _ whoever _ Viktor was.  He didn’t know yet quite how to ask “So who are you anyway?” without sounding rude or risking volatile information.

Whether or not the skaters made the conscious decision to shift from formless figures around and around the ice to a slow, swirling dance, Yuuri would never know. But before long their talking gave way to skating, their bodies sweeping in orbit around one another. Was Yuuri’s breathlessness a result of his drastically reduced training schedule? Or… he was acutely aware that whenever he chanced little glimpses into his skating partner’s face, he was met with the glimmer of sparkling blue eyes.  _ Viktor was watching him. _ He felt warm and excited and vulnerable all at once, not sure if he should be unnerved or flattered or…  _ grateful?  Was that a thing? _

Yuuri  _ was _ grateful, however—grateful to be on the ice again, grateful to be skating with ease, grateful to be skating with  _ anyone _ .  Normally, people’s attention made him feel exposed, naked and open to scrutiny, as if every flaw and mistake was on display for everyone to see.  But Viktor’s attention felt different; the man looked at him with a kind of reverence he hardly felt worthy of, and the feeling was sort of intoxicating.  If he kept skating, Viktor would keep looking at him. And for once, that didn’t feel like a bad thing.

Their pattern brought each of them closer and closer to the center of the rink until they came drifting towards one another.  Viktor threw an arm open at the last moment to stop them from colliding, catching Yuuri around his waist and sending both men into a tight spin.  This was far too much compared to little brushes on his wrists, and Yuuri jumped back out of his reach, his feet slipping out from under him. He scrambled for his balance before tumbling to the ice.

Viktor crouched down, offering his hand, a chuckle bubbling up from his chest.  “Yuuri,” he sighed, his eyes all fire and honey, “I… have something to show you.  If you’ll let me.” He pulled Yuuri to his feet, dipping his chin so that Yuuri had to tip his head back to meet his gaze.  “Please,” Viktor implored, so close Yuuri could feel his breath warm against his cheek, and Yuuri’s own was suddenly stuck somewhere in his chest. The rink was silent for a moment, Yuuri studying the quiet concern painted across Viktor’s face as Viktor stroked his thumb in little circles over the back of his hand. He chewed his lip nervously. 

“I… I want to make sure…” he started, too nervous even to blink, but Viktor stopped him with a gentle squeeze.

“No spoilers,” he murmured, and Yuuri caught the slightest crack in his voice. “Promise. Just… please watch me. Don’t look away.” He broke away and hurried to the boards to hook up his phone, leaving Yuuri to slide quietly over to the gate.

The Japanese man slipped on his skate guards and grabbed his thermos, panting lightly from the refreshing workout. He watched Viktor situate himself in the center of the ice, somber, head bowed, completely still.

And then the music started. Yuuri collapsed lightly into the boards, resting on his elbows, tea in both hands and pressed, fragrant and warm against his lips. The melody was dreamy and wistful, and Viktor’s body sang in time to the woodwinds as if his movements themselves were the source of the haunting tenor that cried out in longing. Yuuri’s heart racing in his chest was no longer a result of physical exertion. It was  _ beautiful _ . It was  _ tender _ . It was  _ heartbreaking. _

The message was clear. Viktor reached and grasped in vain at the air, clutching an invisible lover to his chest, unable to let go. The glint of the late morning sun pouring through the windows flashed as it danced off his hair, his skates, his tear-filled eyes. He threw himself into each motion, and yet, each movement of his wrist and turn of his body was feather-light, like he was skating on the surface of water instead of ice. 

Nothing else existed in that moment, as the music swelled to its dramatic peak. It was only Viktor, soaring through the air in a— _ was that a quad flip??— _ the spray of ice and sweat and tears cascading away from him as he spun. Yuuri hadn’t even caught the jump until it already happened—every element from the prep to the landing was flawless, effortless to the extent that the effort was eclipsed by beauty.

And all of a sudden, it was over, Viktor clinging onto the remnants of something that just wasn’t there, shaking with overwhelming emotion. Yuuri reached up and wiped his own tears from the corners of his eyes.

Neither of them moved for a long time.  Whatever had just happened felt…  _ big _ , bigger than either of them.  Yuuri watched Viktor sink to his knees on the ice, faintly processing that the man was grieving, but he couldn’t even begin to think about making his limbs move.  Something about that program struck him in his very depths, a profound and resonating  _ something _ beyond simply the intended message.  He had a feeling he wouldn’t learn anything about that for a long time.  He stared into the surface of his rapidly-cooling tea as if somewhere within the drink he’d find an answer.  A direction. Anything. He wanted to comfort the broad, beautiful man who’d just spilled his soul onto the ice for Yuuri’s eyes only and who looked at him like he had personally hung the stars in the night sky, but at the same time, no matter how long they’d known each other in Viktor years… he’d only been in Yuuri’s life a few hours.  He was more mystery than man at this point, and with every turn, he left Yuuri with more questions. 

The scrape of skates announced Viktor’s approach, and the man who stepped off the ice and into his skate guards looked exhausted, his body leaning in Yuuri’s direction as though he half-expected they’d crash together again as they had during their skate.  Yuuri could imagine him falling into his arms, clutching to his shoulders and pulling him close as he had just tried to do to thin air. He imagined that yes, if he knew and trusted this person, that was probably something he’d accommodate. He might even squeeze back.  Was that what Viktor wanted? Was that what he  _ expected? _

He looked up into steel blue eyes.  They were back to their usual scouring gaze, rimmed with red and apprehensive as he tried to gauge Yuuri’s next move.  Viktor wiped his nose on his glove rather unceremoniously and quickly turned the thing inside-out and off of his hand.

“Um, thank you,” he murmured, the ache in his voice tightening each vowel so that the “you” was cut short, barely above a whisper.  Yuuri nodded, and before he really knew what he was doing he reached out and took Viktor’s cold, slender hand in his, tracing compulsory figures with his thumb against the pink skin just as Viktor had done with his earlier.

“I think you may need another hot bath,” Yuuri said, hoping his smile was warm, hoping this wasn’t forced, because he sincerely didn’t want it to be, but he was also leaps and bounds outside of his comfort zone.  “And maybe some katsudon.”

Viktor’s eyes lit up, and yep, there it was, Yuuri was in trouble.  His pulse was racing and his cheeks were hot and he was in trouble. He felt himself crossing into unchartered territory—at least for him, so cautious, so reserved around people he didn’t know—and he was not even thinking about turning back.

“Oh Yuuri,” Viktor chuckled, using his other glove as a tissue just as he’d done with the first, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

_ Oh but I want to _ , he wanted to say.

 

It wasn’t until they were back at the inn, freshly showered and with bellies full of food and sake that Yuuri realized he’d let his guard down.  Just as they had this morning, they filled the spaces between them with unending chatter. Books, movies, fashion… Viktor had an opinion about everything and was not shy about sharing it.  He loved  _ The Hobbit _ but couldn’t get into  _ The Lord of The Rings _ , which sent Yuuri into a soapbox-worthy rant in defense of the trilogy.  Viktor lamented the passing of the early 2000s and the outrageous styles they entailed, particularly the low-rise flared jeans.  Yuuri joked that kids would sooner eat laundry detergent than return to what he determined (based off pictures on Viktor’s phone) to be fashion designed by aliens, a strange amalgamation of florals and bright colors and cutified sportswear with the jarring addition of bucket hats and wide-leg pants.

“Why do those pants have to button all the way down the leg?” he gasped, zooming in on an image Viktor pulled from a clothing catalog.  “Is there a practical use for that at all?”

Viktor laughed, his shoulder brushing against Yuuri’s as he scrolled through Google for more examples.  “I don’t think so. We always called them ‘easy access.’ I didn’t understand what that even meant until after they went out of style,” he added.  Yuuri snorted. Makkachin sneezed. The two men collapsed over her in a fit of affectionate giggles.

With his cheek pressed into Makkachin’s side, Viktor caught Yuuri’s eye and offered a little smile.  It was simple and sincere, and for once he looked genuinely  _ happy _ , and Yuuri realized he was feeling the same.  He had no clue how one man could barge in, and in less than a full day challenge all the self-loathing and pessimism and bitterness Yuuri had grown accustomed to, armed with nothing but a skating program and a smile.  Maybe it was the prospect that, whatever was to come, Viktor might be there. Maybe it was the reminder of just how important skating was in Yuuri’s life, and the chance that, even once, he could skate on the same ice as Viktor again.

Maybe it was the way that the sight of him, stretched out on the floor, pressing squeaky kisses behind his poodle’s ears and laughing his carefree, musical laugh, left Yuuri breathless.

Whatever role Viktor played in Yuuri’s future, the present was more enjoyable than anything he’d experienced in a long time.  Years, maybe. He returned Viktor’s smile, indulging in the sight of his sparkling eyes, and lowered his own cheek to Makkachin’s soft fur.  It felt so much like Vicchan’s that Yuuri immediately relaxed. He carded his fingers through the dog’s silver-beige curls, scritching gently with his fingertips, eyes locked on Viktor’s.  Everything around them was quiet and still.

“Hey,” Yuuri murmured, hardly daring to blink, lest either one of his new guests should suddenly disappear from his sight.  Makkachin luxuriated in the double attention between them and Viktor grinned into her side.

“Hey back,” he murmured, brushing his hand along the dog’s side until it rested, just barely, on Yuuri’s.  Unlike at the rink, it was pleasantly warm, and Yuuri was content to stay in this position for as long as Viktor or Makkachin would allow.  “What are you thinking?” Viktor asked. Yuuri could feel the blush creeping over his face, but with none of the accompanying frantic impulses to retreat.  It was… it was kind of nice to feel vulnerable around Viktor, at least like this.

“I was so grouchy this morning,” he mused, “and I’m not anymore.”  

Viktor’s eyes widened and his expression grew soft.  “That’s the best thing you could have said,” he whispered.  “I was thinking… this is pretty nice. You know, considering.”  His fingers clenched briefly over Yuuri’s hand before letting go.  “I’m so glad we could meet like this, Yuuri. I know it was unexpected for you, and please trust that it was unexpected for me.  There is so much I wish I could say, but I know that you’ll come to know all of it, in due time.” 

For the first time in at least a few minutes, Viktor broke his gaze, eyes half-lidded and cast downward introspectively.  Yuuri let his own eyes flutter shut as well, basking in the gentle sensations of Makka’s fur and Viktor’s skin, the rise and fall of the dog’s chest as she panted happily.  He shifted his hand slightly, lacing his fingers through Viktor’s, and clasped them shut. Viktor squeezed in response.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

“I will,” Yuuri replied.  “Promise.”

 

 

* * *

  
  


He had no clue when he’d fallen asleep, but when Yuuri awoke to the sound of raised voices, the sky was dark and Viktor was nowhere to be found.  Makkachin paced anxiously around the dining room, whining and panting as she moved.

Yuuri’s sleep had been warm and comfortable, but as he sat up he could immediately sense that something was off.  It was late—the kitchen light was off and the dining room was empty save for him—and there was definitely something going on right outside.

He padded over to Makkachin and smoothed her fur reassuringly, the way he would with Vicchan during fireworks and thunderstorms.

“Where’s your human, sweet one?” he muttered, stepping into his shoes.  Makka whined in response, and Yuuri offered one last pat before slipping quietly out the door.

The air was cool and still, and Yuuri’s breath rose in clouds in front of him as he crept towards the source of the racket.  He couldn’t understand what was being said—the fight was in some foreign language, but as he drew closer his insides turned to lead.  He swore he could make out one of the voices, at least—

_ Viktor’s. _

He peered around the corner into the garden for just long enough to see the glint of silver-ash hair, a soft flash of reflected moonlight as Viktor took a step in the direction of a dark, hooded figure.

Yuuri whipped his head around, back out of sight, and swallowed hard.  The other man, hooded and solid, was brandishing a knife.

“Please,” Viktor begged in English, and Yuuri’s attention snapped abruptly to the conversation on the other side of the wall.  He held his breath, listening. “You do not have to do this. Remember Beijing? You would not be here right now, if it weren’t for- ah!”

There was a soft  _ thud _ as Viktor cried out, as if he’d fallen to the ground.

“I only remember your failure,” the other man growled, and Viktor spat something particularly nasty-sounding in Russian in response.  “Yakov was mistaken to hire you; he should have known you were too weak to carry out simple orders. I will not be moved so easily,” sneered the foreign voice.  “This no longer concerns you, Nikiforov. Move aside.”

“Are you joking?” Viktor cried out.  “Otabek, it’s a fixed point in time! It  _ has _ to be that day, that exact moment! Without him—“

“Without Katsuki you might have half a chance at carrying out the missions to which you’ve been assigned.  Without him, your careless attachment would not have conjured up the rift. You see? This is why you failed.  You never did have the capacity to see the bigger picture.”

There was a snap of twigs and another dull  _ thud _ and Viktor groaned once again.  Yuuri clapped his hands over his mouth to stop from gasping.  He knew he should leave; this was bordering on severely dangerous information, but he was too panicked and confused to really process what he was hearing.  All he understood was that he was in danger—and Viktor was, too.

“I will say this one last time,” the hooded figure growled.  Yuuri peered around the corner once more to see him standing over a prone Viktor, one foot set firmly in the small of his back.  “Stand down, or become a casualty. The choice is yours.”

Viktor threw his head back to meet his attacker’s gaze, and Yuuri saw in the moonlight the shiny, wet blood dripping down his face.  He barked another stream of Russian, and the hooded figure laughed, digging the heel of his boot into Viktor’s spine.

“Very well then,” he sneered, grabbing a fistful of Viktor’s hair into his fist and yanking upward.  Viktor yelped, gasping, both his hands flailing behind him.

Yuuri’s pulse was pounding in his ears.  He moved before he could think, running full tilt towards the hooded figure.

“Viktor!” he shouted, and Viktor’s eyes blew wide with fear as he caught sight of him.

Before the attacker could react, Yuuri barreled into him, knocking him off balance enough for Viktor to jump up and put himself between the two.

“Yuuri, what are you doing here?  You need to go. Now,” he pleaded, and Yuuri saw that same hurt in his eyes from that morning.  He spun around just in time to catch the hooded man’s arm as it swung down on him, the knife practically glowing in the moonlight.  Yuuri took a few steps back, trying to assess the situation, desperate to find a way to help Viktor escape. Viktor’s hold on the man was tight, but it was clear he wouldn’t hold out much longer.

“Yuuri!  Please! Run!” he shouted, arms locked in a dangerous, volatile tangle with the attacker.

Yuuri should have run.  He should have turned and bolted into the inn, calling out to anybody for help.  Instead, he hesitated, frozen to the spot, looking on in horror as the shiny blade of the knife disappeared into the folds of Viktor’s green linen robe, right between his shoulder blades.  Yuuri should have run, but instead, he screamed.

The attacker turned his head and started towards him, pulling his knife from Viktor’s back with a sickening wet sound. Viktor hissed, sputtering and gasping, behind him.

Yuuri watched the man approach as if everything was in slow motion, his knife dripping with—oh god—with  _ Viktor’s blood.  _ His eyes flashed with determination, his arm drawing back and ready to plunge forward.  Yuuri’s feet found their movement far too late, and he turned, scrambling to find some traction in the wet grass before tumbling to his knees.  He curled up on the spot, eyes pressed shut, waiting for the inevitable, biting into his lip so hard his mouth filled with the sharp, metallic taste of blood, and—

—a loud  _ bang _ pierced the air, making Yuuri’s ears ring as the hooded figure crumpled to the ground beside him.  Peeking between his fingers, Yuuri could see right away that the man was dead, his blood pooling around him in the grass.

Beyond the ringing in his ears, he could hear Viktor’s sharp, shuddering breaths just beyond his line of vision.  He needed to stand, needed to get over to him. Without taking his eyes off his attacker, Yuuri crawled, sobbing, across the garden to where Viktor lay, pale and shivering, the gun still in his hand as it fell to his side.  Yuuri scooped the Russian man up into his arms, flinching at the wet blood soaking through his robe.

Viktor looked dazed, his eyes wide and rolling back as he tried to focus them forward, his head lolling to the side as Yuuri clutched him close.

“Yuuri,” he breathed, his chest heaving shallowly. “Я вас люблю, люблю безмерно. Я в вас нашла мой рай земной.”

A sob escaped Yuuri’s throat as he smoothed Viktor’s hair back from his face.  “No… No, please. Viktor, stay with me,” he begged, pulling his forehead into his own.  “Everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, willing himself through tears that were threatening to seize his entire body.  “We’re going to get you help. Please, Viktor, don’t give up.”

He could feel, rather than hear, a strained laugh shake Viktor’s chest before dissolving into wet, sputtering coughs.

“You’ll get to see me again,” he whispered, his words sharp and deliberate, as though it took every ounce of effort for him to form them.  “Yuuri, thank you for showing me life and love.”

Yuuri pulled back, realization dawning at what Viktor was implying.

“No,” he gasped.  “No, please, hang on.”

Trembling hands reached up and cupped his face, and Viktor’s eyes, dull and gray and glassy, caught Yuuri’s one last time.

“I’ll see you soon,” he breathed, letting his arms fall heavy at his sides, “I love you.”

And then the shuddering stopped, the gasping gave way to one, long sigh, and Yuuri wept.


	2. Hot Springs on Ice (Y2V3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yuuri said I saved his life. I wish so badly I could tell him he saved mine. I wish I could tell him he’s in more danger than he knows. I wish I could tell him I’m sorry. I guess I’m supposed to stick to pertinent facts and new information. Can I show Yuuri what he means to me without leading them to him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the amazing postingpebbles and izzyisozaki for betaing

Yuuri tore through the inn, barely stopping to kick his shoes off as he entered, his pulse pounding in his ears. 

There were two men dead just outside.

He had just seen two men die right in his garden.

He couldn’t panic the guests  _ (god, who heard that gunshot?)  _ or else he’d be screaming at the top of his lungs.  He veered down the hall where the Katsukis’ private rooms were situated, bypassing his and his parents’ bedrooms, certain that the only one who could stay calm in a situation like this was—

“Mari…  _ Nee-chan _ …” he rasped, hardly able to keep up with his own rapid breathing as he shook his sister awake.  “Mari, I need your help.”

Mari rubbed her eyes as she sat up.  “Little brother? What time is it?” she mumbled, blinking awake.  Her expression changed from annoyed to alarmed as she took in the sight of her brother in front of her. “Yuuri, oh god, are you okay?  What happened? You’re shaking!”

“I don’t know what to do,” Yuuri whispered urgently.

“Is that  _ blood?” _

“We have to call the hospital…”  He snatched her wrist and took off again at full speed.  “There’s still a chance we can save him, please, I need you to help.”

Mari fought against his grip as she trotted behind him.  “Yuuri, you’re scaring me! What happened?” she asked. He dragged her outside, already dialing the emergency number on his cell phone as he went, and stopped her just short of the garden.

“Mari,” he said, aware of the panic in his voice, “this is—just—I want you to be prepared.”  He blinked back the tears that were threatening to start again. “It’s pretty gruesome.”

He ushered her around the corner, wincing in anticipation of the sight that awaited them.  

“Uh, Little Brother?”  Mari’s voice did not sound panicked like he’d expected.  He opened his eyes, expecting to see the assailant crumpled and bleeding at his feet, and Viktor’s body just beyond that.  He expected to see pools of dark, sticky blood and murder weapons and signs of struggle.

Instead, he saw nothing but garden.

“No… Oh, no…” Yuuri wandered into the yard, ignoring the cold, wet grass against his still bare feet.  “Viktor, no… Where—? Oh god, Mari, where did they—?”

Mari watched him quietly with a little, concerned frown.  “I have the feeling you have a story for me,” she said, and Yuuri was relieved to hear the sincerity in her voice, without a trace of doubt or disdain.  “Should I make tea?”

Yuuri wanted to say yes, but his entire focus was on the spot where, not even ten minutes ago, he’d held a dying Viktor in his arms.  Tears splattered against the lenses of his glasses, causing everything to blur and refract in front of him. He bit his lip against the onslaught of emotions seizing at his chest and deflated, kneeling down where he’d expected to find the man who—

“Saved my life,” he squeaked, squeezing his eyes tight as a sob escaped his throat.  He sank lower, until his forehead was pressed against the cold, hard dirt. He didn’t know what to do next.  This was  _ bad _ .  This was Shut-Down-The-Inn bad.  It was Go-Into-Hiding bad. Someone came to Hasetsu to try to kill him, and yet here he was, unable to think about anything other than the man who swept him off his feet for an entire day before being ripped from his grasp.

Next thing he knew, Mari was leading him back inside.  His glasses were off; he could barely see in front of him as he was steered towards a table and gently guided into a seated position.

And then his parents were there, and tea was poured, and three sets of worried golden-brown eyes peered down at him as he struggled to stop his hands from shaking.

Yuuri stared down into his cup as if he could scry some kind of answer within the dark, fragrant water.

“Yuuri, we need to know what happened, dear,” Mom soothed beside him, patiently prying his trembling fingers off of his cup.  “We will believe you, and we’ll help you,” she said. Her hands were cold but comforting all the same, and Yuuri found himself leaning into her shoulder.  He breathed deep, wiping the last remaining tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Viktor— _ the European guest with the dog _ seems— _ seemed _ to know me when we met today.  He was a skater. I’ve never met him before.  But… I fell asleep and when I woke up he was outside and this man was talking about… me, and a rift, and a fixed point in time… and they fought. And I was stupid; I tried to intervene, and Viktor—“ his voice hitched as he choked back another little sob.  “They’re both dead. Or they were. I don’t know. Because now they’re gone. I ran for Mari and by the time we got back, the bodies, the blood, everything disappeared. Did you hear a gunshot at all?”

His family shook their heads, wide-eyed.  Mom and Dad exchanged disconcerted looks across the table.  Everyone was quiet as the weight of what Yuuri had said sunk in.

“You need to call Celestino,” Dad said finally, chasing the statement with a sip of tea.  “Isn’t this the exact kind of thing the ISU was worried about?”

“Dad, there are other Roamer skaters. Why would someone come after me?  I’m retired! _ ” _ Yuuri asked.  Mom draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

“The why doesn’t really matter when it’s already happening,” she said wryly, squeezing him as if what she said bore any sort of comfort.  “We’ve dealt with this before, with people throwing bricks through windows and over the onsen fence,” she said. “The ISU gave you Celestino as a resource for just this reason.  You need to go to him and consider what you’re going to do.”

“Skating again would keep anyone after me away from Hasetsu,” Yuuri mused.  “Maybe it’s what I’ll need to do to keep you all safe.”

Mom gasped at the implication of his words.

“Now,” Dad admonished, “you don’t need to worry about that.  But Celestino does have systems in place that can keep you safe.  I think it would be a good idea,” he urged.

Mari nodded.  “Besides,” she added, “you said that guy was a skater, right?  Maybe you met him at a competition or something!”

Mom swatted at Mari from across the table and tutted something about a time and place for that sort of thing, but Yuuri could feel the burn in his cheeks deepen at the realization that…  _ oh god he was going to see Viktor again. _  A wave of relief washed over him amid all the panic as he remembered that no, this wasn’t the end.

This was the beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

Celestino's concern was apparent as Yuuri recounted the events of the previous night in as great detail as he could manage.  He spat and cursed and Yuuri could hear objects being kicked around on the other end of the phone.  
"Did anybody see?" he asked.  Yuuri flopped back onto his bed and let a pillow fall over his eyes.  He could hear the distaste in his coach's voice.  
"Nobody," he replied.  "My sister went around offering discounted services as an apology for any disrupted sleep this morning, but nobody seemed to have heard anything.  
Celestino swore under his breath.  "That's not good. No sign of the dog?"   
After debriefing his family, Yuuri had spent the remainder of his night searching the inn and the surrounding area for Makkachin, who he hadn't seen since before the attack.  He told Celestino that she still hadn't turned up.  
"Well, that doesn't mean it’s not out there, but I think it's safe to assume whoever came and collected the bodies was no idiot.  They probably made sure the dog came along."  
Unease twisted in Yuuri's stomach.  "Coach... are you talking about temporal agents?" he asked as he rolled onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest.  Celestino laughed bitterly.  
"Don't be stupid, Yuuri Katsuki, official agents would have you and your entire family in custody and detailed reports from every poor customer of that inn of yours by now."  He sighed, thick and heavy. "No, this is most likely the work of temporal rogues," he said seriously. Yuuri's insides turned to ice.  
"What do I need to do?" he asked.   
"First of all, stay where you are," he urged.  "Hasetsu is a sanctuary city. In a pinch, you are not that far from an Agency branch.  You can seek refuge there. Understand?"  
"I understand."  
"Good.  Let's think about getting some reinforcements out your way too, and get your town back in the supportive spirit to give you a little extra security."  He hummed for a moment, and the sound of papers shuffling filled Yuuri's ears. "Ah. Yuri Plisetsky. Do you know him?" he asked.  
Oh.  
"Uhh..." Yuuri mumbled, flopping back onto his back.  He had allowed himself to grow pleasantly ignorant of the young Russian skater who, shortly before Yuuri's resignation, had cornered him in a public restroom and pressured him to quit, spitting that there was only room for one Roamer—and one Yuri—on the podium.  "It rings a bell," he half-lied.  
Celestino chuckled.  "It's easy marketing," he admitted.  "Roamer against Roamer, Yuri against Yuri. They'll eat that stuff up."

Yuuri made a hesitant noise into his pillow.  “You mean like a skate show?” He groaned.

“Yes, that should do it,” Celestino concluded.  “Yakov has an impeccable security network in place for his Roamers.  I’m sure he would be happy to lend a hand.

Yuuri winced.  “Yeah, I guess that should do it,” he repeated.  He was admittedly less than thrilled at the prospect of sharing the ice with the Russian Punk, but he didn’t exactly have a better plan, either.  “Just let me know who I need to talk to,” he said with a sigh.

“Secondly, Yuuri—“ Celestino began.  Yuuri didn't think it was possible for his tone to grow any darker, any more serious.  But as he continued, his words slow and careful, Yuuri discovered he was wrong. “I would encourage you not to get involved with Viktor Nikiforov,” he warned, his voice grave.  “I think you’ll come to find he’s a rather unsavory character.”

It wasn’t anything near what Yuuri expected to hear, and he found himself bristling at the suggestion.  “Why?” he demanded. “What did he do?”

Celestino’s answer was hesitant, as if he instantly regretted having said anything.  “Nothing I can really discuss here,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Yuuri, I wish I could say more.  Now, I have to—“

“He died saving my life,” Yuuri croaked, unapologetic in interrupting his coach.  He could feel the burn spreading in his cheeks, his free hand fisting in the bedsheets as he squeezed his eyes shut.  “He said he—“ He swallowed down the rest of that sentence as quickly as he realized what it was, thankful that he’d managed to refrain from sharing something so personal with his coach.  “Never mind.” 

“Yes, well.  Stay safe, Yuuri Katsuki,” Celestino warned, and Yuuri could have sworn his breath caught a little in his throat as he spoke.  “I will pass on information about the skate show to you once I have it all settled.”

“Thank you, Coach Celestino,” Yuuri whispered, letting his hand, and the phone in it, drop to the mattress beside him even before he was done speaking.  After a muffled response, he heard the telltale beep notifying him that his coach had hung up, and he let out his breath in a long hiss before drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

 

Yuri Plisetsky, it turned out, was not half as intimidating as Yuuri had imagined.  If anything, he was just oppositional, a perfectly common trait of a kid his age. While he was rough around the edges, and while Yuuri didn’t necessarily find him  _ pleasant _ , they managed to complement one another in a way that felt very natural.  Even though they picked and ribbed and quipped at one another what felt like constantly, Yuuri felt they foiled one another nicely.  And none of their quibble ever left Yuuri feeling dissed or put-down. It was just the competitive spirit. It was actually rather flattering, having someone fresh out of juniors—and another Roamer at that—regard him as a serious competitor.  

There was one problem, though—

Despite not being very intimidating personality-wise, Yuri made Yuuri  _ very _ nervous.  At only fifteen years old, this kid was already far ahead of Yuuri in terms of technique, to the extent that by day two of practice, Yuuri was asking him for help with his quads.  The outcome of the competition wouldn’t be official, but all the same, it made Yuuri shudder to think that this was only the youngest of his upcoming competitors.

As Celestino promised, the Katsukis acted as host to Yuri and a few of Yakov’s men.  Yuri explained over their first dinner together that everyone on the team was a trained member of Yakov’s security unit, and all Roamers themselves.

“That way he can stay back and coach without having to worry whenever I have to travel,” he said through a mouthful of katsudon.  “The man’s fucking paranoid. He acts like it’s so dangerous to go out and be human, you know?”

Yuuri wanted to suggest that maybe the world was, in fact, a little more dangerous than this kid was willing to believe, and a little pang of jealousy hit him right between the shoulder blades. It must have been nice not to know.  

Yuri chased his last bite of rice with most of the contents of his water glass before slamming it down on the table, sending droplets flying and wiping his mouth with the back of this hand.

“So come on,” he said, “let’s get this out of the way.  You guys all linear here, or nonchron?” 

“Oh, uh, linear,” Yuuri stammered.

“Boring,” Yuri muttered, demonstrating his inability to care by scrolling lazily through his phone.  “How’s that even work, anyway? I’ve been here a few days now and you seem to still be with me.”

Yuuri smiled at the veiled interest.  “If I let it go naturally it can be pretty sporadic… sometimes I’ll jump back a few hours and others a few months, and it can happen sort of unpredictably.  So I keep it under control by keeping a schedule and jumping back by week. My whole family does it on schedule, just to keep things from getting confusing.”  He stopped to make sure Yuri was following. “Kind of like winding a clock.”

“If you’re from the future, you shouldn’t get that reference,” Yuri pointed out.  “I sometimes jump by accident, like, if I’m mad or something. But I don’t have to do it at all if I don’t want to, so it’s not quite the same I guess.”

Yuuri nodded.  Most Roamers were nonchronological like the Russian teen; they could jump through time at will, even able to travel through space by honing in on another person’s timeline.

“My mom’s… like that,” he mumbled, slowly becoming aware he’s never actually talked this openly about himself like this, at least not to anyone besides Viktor.

After dinner their second night, Yuuri retreated to his room after Yurio—or so-named by Mari after too many confusing exchanges in the dining room—spent twenty minutes showing him his favorite Vines in his own room down the hall.

He was just beginning to doze off when he heard Yurio cry out.  The yell had him leaping off his pillow, his heart in his throat and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

_ No… _

Voices continued to travel through the thin walls, hushed but urgent.  Yuuri fumbled for his glasses.

_ Not again… _

Why he was drawn to it, he didn’t know.  Every fiber of his being wanted to turn and run, to hide and avoid having to be involved once again.  But at the same time, what if he was the only one who could help? The memory of Viktor’s face as he struggled through his last breaths was still raw in Yuuri’s mind.  He could not ignore Yurio. He crept out into the hall, taking great care to walk lightly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yurio’s voice hissed.  “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Yuri! Oh, thank God,” rasped a voice Yuuri couldn’t quite make out.  Whoever it was sounded winded.

“You can’t be here.  If Yakov finds out he’ll—“

“Shhh—Shut up.  Tell me you know about Beijing.”  Yuuri could feel the bile burning in his throat as he neared.  He remembered that attacker saying something about Beijing, but this sounded nothing like him.  In fact, this sounded more like—

“Viktor, why else would I be trying to tell you to get the fuck out?” Yurio hissed as Yuuri’s mind went blank.

_ Viktor. _

Before he could stop himself, he was in the room, standing dumbly in the doorway, and it was only then that he realized he didn’t have a plan.  Viktor was there, a gloved hand tangled in the silvery threads of his soft hair, eyes brimming with tears.

“Viktor—“ Yuuri breathed, his own eyes stinging, as he closed the space between them in two strides.  Viktor was  _ real _ , alive and warm in front of him, clutching him tight to his chest, his face buried in the hood of Yuuri’s sweatshirt.

_ He’s alive. _

“I can’t believe it’s you,” he sighed into Yuuri’s shoulder.  “You, you, you, Yuuri, thank goodness it’s you.” All Yuuri could do was cling tighter as Viktor melted into him, giving over some of his weight, shaking slightly in Yuuri’s arms. Something was wrong. This was not like last time; Viktor was not just happy to see him, he seemed… relieved, maybe. Consoled. There were no endearments or coy glances, only a rush of emotion and overwhelment. 

“Viktor… are you okay?” Yuuri whispered, and his hand was in that silky silver hair now, smoothing it down, doing whatever he could to comfort the man in front of him.  He didn’t know what else to say. Viktor, it seemed, was going to keep on surprising him. He didn’t mind one bit, not right now.

“I… I’m okay now,” Viktor said, the words rumbling low in his chest against Yuuri’s cheek.  “It’s going to be okay now. God, Yuuri—“

“Oi, old man, this is touching, but you have to  _ go _ ,” Yurio pressed.  “Katsuki, this man is wanted by some powerful people.”

“Yuri, please—“ Viktor started, breaking away to face the young skater, but not entirely, hovering just within reach of Yuuri’s fingertips.

The ire in Yurio’s voice was unwavering.

“And the Agency, strangely enough,” he continued, staring Viktor down with daggers in his eyes, “is after him now too.  Did you know that, Viktor?”

Yuuri nearly choked.  _ The Agency? _ He remembered Celestino’s warnings, how they’d stirred up an oppositional resolve in his chest.  This was not fair. His  _ brain _ was not being fair. Red flags were going up left and right, and yet Yuuri could not help but be drawn like a moth to a flame.

If Viktor was surprised by Yurio’s accusations, he didn’t show it.  “Stop it, Yuri. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he muttered.  “I… I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” 

“So you came here,” Yurio spat with a spiteful laugh, “to a place crawling with Yakov’s men?  Putting  _ me _ in danger?  Putting  _ Katsuki _ in danger?”

“I’m already in danger,” Yuuri pointed out, grabbing onto Viktor’s arm. The same fervor he’d felt defending Viktor against Celestino burned in the back of his neck.  “Viktor saved my life. The least I can give him is my trust.” He tugged lightly at Viktor’s sleeve, ignoring the shock that flashed across his face. “Come on, I’ll get you situated for the night,” he soothed, leaving Yurio gaping indignantly behind him.  Viktor turned, shooting a quick wave to Yurio as he did, and followed him back to his room.

“You’re both idiots,” Yurio called after them.

Yuuri’s head was spinning.

He watched in stunned silence as Viktor picked through a pile of old work clothes, trying to find something big enough to fit him.  Just as he had last time he showed up in Hasetsu, he’d brought with him a whirlwind of new information and potential hazards. But all the same, he was  _ there _ , in Hasetsu, with Yuuri once again. 

The room was quiet for a long time, both men giving one another the space they needed to process everything that had just happened. Yuuri busied himself with the futon cover, purposefully turning his back to give Viktor the privacy to change, giving himself the time he needed to even approach what he could possibly say next.  He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know about their last meeting and Beijing and why he was running, but he was so scared of uncovering volatile information.

The sound of Viktor flopping down on the bed made him turn, and it was  _ unfair _ how well the ill-fitting sweats complemented the subtle contours of his musculature, as if it were intentional that the hem of Yuuri’s navy blue Henley rode up just so above his hips, letting the tiniest stripe of pale skin show.  

He, too, was staring wide-eyed, all curled up on the side of the bed.

“Um—“ Yuuri stammered, but Viktor cut him off, his voice every bit as intense as his gaze.

“I saved your life?” he asked, as if it were impossible, incredible even.  

What the hell was Yuuri supposed to say? He’d already fucked up.  He pushed up his glasses just enough to press his palms gently over his eyes and just breathed, trying to figure out the best way to remedy the stupid error.  That was too much information to let slip. Not only that, this Viktor did not seem nearly as well-versed in Roamer protocol. Last time they’d met, he’d been overly cautious and reassuring.  Now—

“This is all very new to you, isn’t it?” he wagered, turning fully around to face Viktor, whose expression held all the worry and excitement Yuuri had felt last time as he nodded slowly.  “We have to be careful what we talk about. If—“

“Oh, Christ, Yuuri, I know about that,” Viktor interjected.  “Paradoxes, secrets… I mean, I get it. I guess I just don’t know what version of you I’m meeting.”

Ah.

“I’m… I’m  _ linear _ , if that helps,” Yuuri suggested gently, but Viktor sat up, shaking his head.

“No, no, I get… like where in time you are.  But you and me. Where… when  _ we _ are.”

That’s when it clicked.  How Yuuri could have been so stupid he had no idea.  He’d never even asked. 

“Viktor… are you a Roamer?” He blurted.  Viktor looked dumbfounded.

“Haven’t we met before?” he asked apprehensively.  “You know, for you? You said I saved you.”

Yuuri shook his head.  “We met, yeah but… I guess it never came up.  We didn’t get to talk for very long.”

Viktor’s smile, grim and knowing, was the closest Yuuri had yet seen to the way he remembered him.  “Yeah. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you either,” he said sadly. “I’ve seen you twice before this, though.”

“Okay,” Yuuri resolved, jumping to his feet and crossing to his desk.  He could handle this. He rummaged around until he found an old shipment of some sample merchandise from a sponsor: a box full of notebooks, each bound in navy blue with a sparkling black and mauve embellishment.  “Here,” he said, tossing one to Viktor before dropping back down on the futon with the other in his lap. “This is something I do with my friend Phichit to keep from slipping up.”

Viktor looked down at his notebook in amazement, turning it over in his hands and admiring the details.  “Hey, I never got notebooks! When did they start doing notebooks?” He demanded.

“Uh, these are from last year,” Yuuri chuckled, relieved that Viktor was starting to relax a little.  “Cute stationery is really popular around here.”

“Japan treats its champions right,” Viktor hummed. “These must have flown off the shelves. They’re beautiful.”

Yuuri sucked his head to conceal his embarrassment. “I didn’t get a whole lot of sales, to be honest,” he mumbled sheepishly.  “My scores were really bad the past couple years. I only came in sixth.”

“In Nationals?” Viktor wondered, flipping through the blank pages as if he’d find something written there.

Yuuri felt his cheeks go red.  “Um, no, in the GPF,” he mumbled, suddenly very interested in finding pens.  Was he really bad enough that Viktor—a Viktor who already knew him—assumed he couldn’t place in Nationals?

“Oh.  Oh!” Viktor practically jumped to his feet, throwing his notebook aside.  “Yuuri, I’m sorry. I didn’t—It’s just, you were talking about Japan and I—“

“It’s fine,” Yuuri assured, tossing him a pen.  “I mean, I’ve placed nationally a few times and even in qualifiers, but I have never had a real international win before,” he said.  Viktor frowned.

“Yuuri, qualifiers are official wins,” he said—practically scolded—and the shame in Yuuri’s chest swelled.  “The fact that you made it to the GPF at all is amazing! Sixth in the world is still pretty remarkable.”

Viktor stood and it struck Yuuri just how big he looked in this tiny space.  Here, in the onsen, on the ice, he always came across as larger-than-life. 

“Can I sit with you?  To write?” he asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Oh… the bed's much more comfortable,” Yuuri suggested, even though, yes, all he wanted was Viktor by his side, bumping shoulders and brushing hands the way they had in the dining room a few weeks ago.

“But you’re down here,” Viktor protested, dropping down to sit cross-legged beside him.  “That seems way cozier.”

Yuuri thought for just a moment that he felt his heart stop.  Viktor leaned fully against his shoulder, exceeding all Yuuri’s hopes and expectations and sending tingles all up and down his left side.

“May I?” Viktor asked again, making a point to catch Yuuri’s eye as he took one of the pens from the hand that was sitting limp and useless in his lap.  The look he gave was somewhere in between comforting and teasing, something Yuuri hadn’t seen from anyone before, except maybe Phichit, who he really wished he could call about any of this.

He wanted to say something, but his mouth was so, so dry.  

Instead he wrote, starting with the date of that day and then every little detail he could remember.  Since so much had happened since then, it was hard to remember that for just a few hours that was the greatest day of his life, full of laughter and fluttering hearts and long stares, little touches…

…and that skate.  The program that Viktor showed him at Ice Castle.  All of it was so good, so bright and bittersweet until the last part.  He tries to remember every little thing they talked about; anything he learned from Viktor was important.  His name. He’d had a bad day. And obviously…

When it came time to write out the events of that night, once he woke up, he found it harder and harder to move the pen with each word.  He knew he had to write it; knew someday it might be important to remember  _ when _ and not just  _ what _ .

_ Viktor was able to shoot the attacker right before h _

His hands shook.  He’d had so much time to accept and still, this was the hardest thing to write.  Viktor was here, now, with him. It should have been easier because of that.

A few teardrops splattered the page, causing the ink to run.

“Shit,” he hissed, doing his best to salvage the words as they morphed into cloudy blobs and pushing his glasses aside to dry his eyes with his other hand.  He felt Viktor turn to look and quickly snapped the book shut. “Sorry, I—“

He looked up only to catch Viktor in the act of wiping his own tears away.  His cheeks and ears and nose were tinged with pink as he let his bangs fall down in front of his eyes, shielding him from Yuuri’s view.

These were the things he took great care to avoid.  These were the things he’d heard about that made him cautious and closed off and callous.  They hardly knew one another, and here they were, detailing accounts of their first meetings—the beginning and the end of their acquaintance, either way you looked at it—and on both sides there was sadness.  Everything Yuuri had ever known warned him against this. As did Celestino. And Yurio. Hard times were ahead.

But when he thought of the way Viktor looked at him all those weeks ago, he couldn’t help but think that there was some happiness to be found, too.  There was fondness in those eyes, and wonder, and excitement, and…

He really wanted to think there was some desire there too, but he knew better.

_ Viktor was able to shoot the attacker right before he died.  His last words were, “I love you.” _

  

The day of the competition came far too quickly.  All week Viktor had laid low, meeting Yuuri at the Ice Castle for his customary late-night skates and steering clear of Yu-topia in the meantime.  Yuuri was able to shake Yakov’s guards by insisting that he couldn’t skate if he knew someone else was there, that Yuuko and Takeshi would keep an eye on him.  There, they skated together for hours each night, both ecstatic to move in and out of each other’s space, hearts racing and chests heaving as they worked out programs and jumps together, just for fun.  Viktor, it turned out, was as good a coach as he was a skater, and Yuuri devoured every note and critique that was thrown his way.  Celestino had never been harsh or strict with him, but that hadn't stopped Yuuri from taking even the smallest corrections to heart. He did not feel self-conscious skating with Viktor.

By the end of the week, Yuuri had never felt so confident about his skating.  When he moved, Viktor watched him like he was creating music rather than dancing to it.  It was the first time that he looked forward to an event with anticipation rather than dread.  He’d already switched his program music with Takeshi, begging him not to tell, and dug through his old costumes to find one that still fit after a year of relative laziness.  He’d gone with one of the first ones he’d worn in seniors: black dance pants matched with a diaphanous white dress shirt, all tied together with a beautiful blue jacket with gold embellishments.  The effect was noble, he thought, like maybe it was very knightly to fight for an ill-advised love with someone he barely knew. He didn’t care. He was done hiding in the shadows as he had for all those years of competing.  He was going to start surprising people.

Yurio was a tough competitor.  His program was a complete foil to his coarse and vulgar personality, based around compassion and mercy.  The raucous teen, while moody and confrontational in real life, glided across the ice with an air of innocence at times, and benevolence at others.  His fiery personality took a back seat to the beautiful shapes he created with his ballet training. For all the confidence Yuuri had built up over the past few days, he was going to need to work hard if he wanted to beat him. 

Somewhere in the crowd, Viktor was watching him.  Yuuri knew this as he stepped out onto the ice and was met with roaring applause from his hometown.  The support from home had always felt unmerited before, wrong, like he was stealing someone else’s thunder.  But this time, it felt really good. Hasetsu loved the Katsukis—Hasetsu loved  _ him _ .  It was time to give that love back.

The first few notes rang out over the sound system, but Yuuri could practically feel it coursing through his veins as he turned his gaze upward, sweeping into his first steps as if being swept up into the arms of an invisible partner, twirling around someone who wasn’t there.  He remembered every ounce of emotion Viktor had put into this song the first time he’d seen it, and while he couldn’t quite remember what the choreography had been, he found the piece and was determined to tell the story of that day—something he could never put into words for fear of losing everything, but something he could retell over and over again here on the ice.

This song was it, he realized as he went into his first quad.  This song marked the moment he’d fallen in love.  _ Love _ , something horrifying and yet exciting to admit, but felt so strongly he could only express it here, like this, yearning and dizzy and reaching for someone who was never quite there.  He’d sympathized with Viktor at first, but now he understood, he felt it so much that it felt like he would explode.

_ Stay close to me… don’t leave, I’m afraid of losing you. _

It was over before he even realized, and the cheers were deafening as he clung to the idea that this could really be love.  He didn’t know, now, if the support was because of his performance or just because he was the local star. He couldn’t remember how he did at all.  All he felt was love, love, love for someone, somewhere in the crowd. 

When the scores were announced, he clung to Yurio’s arm so tight it earned him what he assumed were a few choice curses in Russian under the teen’s breath.  

“This is obnoxious,” Yurio growled, trying to pry himself out of Yuuri’s grip.  “We both know you won.”

He  _ did _ win.  He won by several points.  In fact, this would have been in his top three short program scores ever, had it been official.  He thought knowing would release him from the breathlessness of anticipation, but when it was all over he still felt heady and overwhelmed and… and  _ happy _ .  How stupid, that a threat to his life resulted in something— _ two _ things—that could make him this happy.

It took almost two hours for everyone to clear out—Yakov’s team, Yurio, who didn’t seem too disappointed that Yuuri didn’t want to celebrate, and all the spectators filtered out slowly until finally, Yuuri was left alone with the Nishigoris.

“You’ll lock up after?” Yuuko asked by rote, and Yuuri recited his response.

“Hey,” Takeshi interjected, stopping and turning to Yuuri on his way out the door.  “I know you’re meeting your friend here. Just… You know. Don’t make a mess.”

Yuuri’s face burned as Yuuko chastised her husband all the way out the door.  When they were gone, he checked the security cameras, then proceeded to lock up without even leaving.  When he was confident all the doors were secured, he went back up to the office to check the cameras once more.

Instead, he found Viktor, looking soft and lovely in a maroon v-neck over dark grey jeans, waiting with the takeout the Nishigoris had left them.

“Your friends are wonderful.” Viktor beamed.  “And  _ you _ ,” he added, jumping to his feet to close the space between them, “are nothing short of amazing.”  He pulled Yuuri into his arms and held him tight. 

“Stay here,” Yuuri blurted into his shoulder, clinging to him like he could absorb every last bit of Viktor if only he squeezed hard enough.  “Once Yurio and everyone leaves. Stay with me at the inn.”

Shock melted into excitement melted into pure joy in Viktor’s face as he turned the idea over in his head.

“I want to keep skating with you,” Yuuri babbled, fully aware that he should be shutting up by now, but unable to stop the deluge of feelings that were now flowing out of him.  “I want to skate with you here, and I want to play with Makkachin, and I want… I want to eat katsudon with you, like this, whenever I win.” He looked up into eyes like endless pools of silver light.  He could get lost in them if he wasn’t careful. God, he was in trouble if Viktor ever found out just how much power those eyes had. 

“It’s a horrible idea,” Viktor said, although his expression didn’t match the sentiment at all.  “I’ll be putting you in a dangerous position.”

They both froze at those words, and Yuuri had never seen Viktor look scandalized before, let alone at his own words, and pretty soon they were both chortling breathlessly over the double entendre, struggling to stay standing in each other’s arms.

“Somehow, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Yuuri giggled, drawing a teasing finger down Viktor’s jaw and feeling a surprising sense of satisfaction at the little shiver it elicited.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed, and Yuuri could feel each syllable, hot against his cheek, burn through him as if the sensation were amplified.  He turned to face Viktor, but instead, he was met with lips hot against his, and whatever taunt he had intended flew from his mind quicker than he could process.  For just a moment, barely more than a second, Yuuri’s entire world was sweet, soft lips and Viktor’s hands on his back and nothing else. Yuuri couldn’t tell how he was standing or which way the floor was or  _ where _ he was.  Viktor was kissing him, he was kissing Viktor, and within that kiss was his entire universe.  The second Viktor pulled away, Yuuri had to suppress the impulse to chase that blissful feeling, to prolong the microcosm that existed between them just a moment longer.  He wondered if his breath would ever return.

“I would love to stay here with you, Yuuri,” Viktor whispered, his lips against Yuuri’s hairline.  “Of course I would.” He pressed a few more kisses to Yuuri’s forehead before breaking away to unwrap the katsudon on the desk. Yuuri stood fixed to the spot, his heart beating in accelerando against his ribcage, still drinking in everything that had just happened. Something sweet and savory and tingly still lingered on his lips, and Viktor was still here with him, and Viktor wanted to stay. 

There were still so many unknowns between them, but for this moment Yuuri wasn’t worried about any of them.  He was vaguely aware that his cheeks hurt, vaguely aware that he hadn’t stopped smiling for a long time, but he didn’t care. For once, he found something— _ someone _ —he wasn’t willing to give up.

Yuuri knew without a question that if Viktor wanted to, he could quickly become his everything. He secretly hoped that Viktor wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up Nov. 1st!!


	3. Nationals (Y3V5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Y3V?) I’ve been helped by many people through various struggles thus far, but I’ve never thought about “love” until now. Though I was blessed with support, I couldn’t take full advantage of it. I always felt like I was fighting alone. But since Viktor showed up in my life, I’ve seen something totally different. I was finally able to realize that something like love exists all around me. Viktor is the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to. I don’t really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it “love”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy NaNoWriMo, everyone! Let's work hard this November!
> 
> Things really start moving in this chapter - almost at the halfway point!
> 
> Thanks again to [izzyisozaki](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta!
> 
> There will be more art from [comeonandrockmyfandom](http://comeonandrockmyfandom.tumblr.com) in the next chapter

Yuuri could not believe how happy he was.

Celestino had managed to pull some strings to get him qualified for the Grand Prix Final. Only two of the three Roamer slots had been filled at this point, and while Michele Crispino had qualified by proxy, the ISU loved to show their inclusivity by having a 50/50 lineup. Yuuri eked by and took his place with his coach’s help.  All he had to do was place in Japanese Nationals to prove he was back on his game.

Of course, there was also Viktor.  Viktor, who hadn’t left Katsuki Yu-topia since his arrival several weeks ago for the Hot Springs on Ice show.  Yuuri had moved him into Yurio’s room once everyone from the Russian skating team had left, and they’d become inseparable since then.  Viktor was up early every morning to drag Yuuri out of bed and into the fresh spring air for their run to Hasetsu Ice Castle, and honestly, waking up to that smile every morning was more than Yuuri could have asked for.

Yuuri sometimes worked on his program elements with Viktor, but more often than not they spent their mornings dancing lazily around one another, a mockery of a pair skate but nonetheless enjoyable, joking around and creating new dance moves and finding new ways to move around one another.

And talking, always talking.

Yuuri could talk to Viktor about anything.  And he did, too. They skated compulsory figures in tandem, chatting about dogs and books and television shows, never reaching a lull in their conversation.  They shared embarrassing stories from their time in juniors, like the time Yuuri got so nervous at Nationals that he had to leave the ice in the middle of his free skate to throw up, or the time Viktor tried to compete while sick with the flu and actually did throw up at a regional competition.  They shared stories of ugly costumes and annoying competitors (Viktor knew about JJ—they both had a lot to say about JJ), or of the best cake they’d ever had, or anything either of them could think to say, because somehow, without any conscious effort on his part, Yuuri felt like he could say anything around Viktor.  Even when he was feeling low—either from the anxiety of returning to competition or the fear from the incident that had started this whole thing—even if he couldn’t talk about it in very much detail, Viktor would listen. When he opened up, Viktor met him where he was. He’d never had that with anyone before.

Although their time on the ice together was never official training, at Viktor’s insistence, Yuuri found himself learning more and more at every session.  Viktor was an incredible skater—better than any of his competitors, Yuuri thought—and in a few short weeks he found he’d made profound improvements on his quads.  Officially, Yuuri was working through the basics with the Nishigoris until Celestino was free to come and get him prepared for competition. Takeshi and Yuuko were not world-class skaters, but they knew more about the figure skating world than most coaches or competitors.  They knew what to look for, and they knew Yuuri well enough to be able to troubleshoot inconsistencies in his technique. They also adored Viktor and welcomed his help whenever he was around, which was most of the time.

Whenever he wasn’t on the ice or soaking in the hot springs with Viktor, Yuuri was working choreography in Minako-sensei’s ballet studio.  Stammi vicino was a strong free skate that required an equally strong short program. Yuuri was done floundering and procrastinating and letting Celestino pick his music for him; this time he wanted something that would be thematically consistent not only from the judges’ perspectives, but his own as well.

He wanted his theme to be Love.  He hadn’t told anyone this yet, not even Viktor.  He was waiting for the perfect moment.

Each day, Yuuri knew he was closer to telling him.  It was becoming harder and harder to keep his feelings a secret, especially when they’d fallen into a comfortable and exciting routine around one another.  They ate every meal together, sometimes alone and sometimes with family, and it had been a long time since the dining room of the inn had such a warm and cozy atmosphere.  It had taken a little bit of time to convince the Katsukis that they could trust Viktor, but ultimately Yuuri’s parents decided that his trust was good enough for them, and they couldn’t deny that they were seeing fewer and fewer “down days” from him since That Handsome European Guest came around.  Viktor was becoming more and more a part of his life with every passing day, then every passing week, until it became harder and harder to remember what life was like before him.

Yuuri was starting to feel spoiled, even deceived, as if this life were too good to be true.  He knew in the back of his mind that it really was, that a darker reality would present itself eventually, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when every night was a marathon of long, relaxing soaks in the hot springs and binge-watching Netflix, sprawled out on the futon in Yuuri’s room, and soft, sweet kisses that almost always resulted in the two getting tangled up in Viktor’s bedsheets.  It was hard to worry about the future when Viktor took up so much of his life in the present, surrounding him with love and comfort and passion and life. Viktor was there. Things were good. Yuuri was good.

Their last night before Celestino arrived, the two sat in their rooms and wrote, filling their journals will all the little details they found relevant.  Yuuri insisted they do it separately, despite Viktor’s protests that they had the same experiences the whole time he was there. It just felt more comfortable even looking at the journal from the privacy of his own room, and Viktor could not help but concede that point.

When he was done writing, Yuuri tried to sleep.  Tomorrow was his next jump, and he needed the energy, but at the same time letting tonight end meant there was nothing left but to wake up on the day that Viktor would have to go away again.  This time, at least, he knew Viktor was going. This time, there was no surprise or shock or sudden grief. But the anticipation was eating him alive. He was not ready to give up his new happiness just yet.  He didn’t know when he’d see Viktor next.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours (but what the Pom Pom Pudding clock on his nightstand insisted was only an hour and a half), Yuuri heard the soft rhythm of footsteps padding down the hall followed by the tiniest knock on his doorframe.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispered from outside.  “Are you still awake?”

Yuuri slipped out of bed and crept over to the door.  He’d barely opened it before Viktor pushed inside, his arms snaking tight around Yuuri’s waist, catching his mouth in a desperate kiss as he shut the sliding door with one foot.

“Missed you,” he whispered into Yuuri’s lips.  “Mm gonna miss you so much, Yuuri.”

Something about the way his name rolled like silk off Viktor’s tongue made Yuuri melt. Just his name alone sounded like praise coming from Viktor, reverent and indulgent and round at the edges.  He parted his lips just a little, inviting Viktor in, and the slip of wet tongue between them was hot and mind-numbing, and before he could convince himself otherwise, he was pulling Viktor back with him towards the twin bed, fingers tangled in his silver hair, until they tumbled down together.

“Please let me stay here tonight,” Viktor breathed, pulling away from Yuuri’s kiss only to give some attention to the sensitive spot just above his pulse point, the weight of his body pinning Yuuri down to the mattress as he sucked little bruises into his neck.  “Don’t make me sleep by myself.”

“I don’t wanna… not if you’re leaving so soon… it’s too soon,” Yuuri moaned, trying to keep his quavering voice low.  “I’m sorry, Vi—”

Viktor pulled back, propping himself up on his arms and gazing down at Yuuri with an adoring smile.  “Oh, my Yuuri, I’m not going to ask you to sleep with me yet!” He rolled off Yuuri onto his side with a little giggle.  “I just wanted to sleep here. Really sleep. To be close to you.”

“You could probably do that,” Yuuri hummed, turning to face Viktor and nuzzling close into his chest.  “Are you going to let me sleep, or are you going to keep—oh!—keep distracting me?” A shiver ran down his spine as Viktor found the hem of his tee shirt and pulled it up, letting his fingertips brush lightly against Yuuri’s ribs.  “Viktor, I need to sleep!” Yuuri hissed, almost jumping out of his skin, although he didn’t protest too much and he was sure Viktor could feel his smile pressed against his chest.

“Don’t mind me.”  The words rumbled low in Viktor’s chest, sweet and soothing against Yuuri’s cheek.  “Just sleep.” 

It was easier said than done. Every little thing the Russian man did and said coursed through Yuuri’s body in waves.  He was hypersensitive to every touch, far too aware of how easy it was for Viktor to summon goosebumps with the slightest brush of his fingertips.  It was almost too much, the way this excited him. Instead of being calming and lulling him to sleep, Viktor’s presence had Yuuri all worked up. His heart raced, and he couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was his pulse pounding in his own ears or his heartbeat itself; either way, being aware of it was not helping in any way to slow it down.

“Yuuri—” Viktor whispered after a few minutes.  “Are you sure you’re okay? I can move to the futon if you—”

“No, no!” Yuuri stammered, shifting closer to demonstrate his desire to keep Viktor near.  “I want you here. It’s just a lot. Good a lot.”

With one finger on his chin, Viktor tilted Yuuri’s head up until he met his gaze, lips pressed thin with concern.

“Yuuri, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.  If it’s too much, that’s okay.”

Yuuri clung to Viktor’s sleep shirt, hiding his face in the soft fabric to conceal the blush he felt burning across his cheeks.  He didn’t want Viktor to go, even though the excitement of having him here would be enough to keep him awake all night.

“I don’t know when I’m going to see you again.” He winced, fighting back the tears stinging at his eyes, embarrassed at how needy he felt when Viktor was the one who had come to him.

Viktor took his hands for a moment, squeezing them gently as he shifted onto his other side.  “At least you know that you will,” he said with an empathetic smile. “That’s good enough for me.  Here, how’s this? Come spoon me, золотце мой.”

With Viktor’s back to him, Yuuri scooted his hips forward until they were barely touching, adjusting so that their shoulders were level and scooping Viktor up into his arms.  Viktor’s hair was soft and slightly sweaty, but Yuuri was at the perfect angle to press gentle kisses into it behind Viktor’s ear, chasing the rush of satisfaction he received when he made Viktor shiver.

He had much more control like this, something he wasn’t even aware he needed until he had it.  This arrangement was not overwhelming in the slightest, and the gentle rise and fall of Viktor’s body against his as he drifted into sleep was soothing.  Yuuri felt his heart rate start to slow and his muscles relax, and the last thing he remembered thinking about before he fell asleep was the sweet, sensitive way Viktor picked up on his stress, even when he didn’t know it was there.

 

Viktor was gone in the morning.  Yuuri had half expected it, and it wasn’t like he’d ever woken up with Viktor in his bed before, but he still felt a pang of lonesome sadness when he realized there would be no sleepy smile or sparkling blue eyes to greet him when he went down for his morning run.  He couldn’t help but wonder how long he would have to wait until the next time Viktor stumbled into his life, and how long they had left.

 

When Yuuri showed his new competition program to Celestino the next day, the coach was thoroughly impressed.

“This is your best material yet,” he mused, re-watching Yuuri’s short program on the little LCD screen of his camera.  “Minako choreographed this?”

“Uh, actually,” Yuuri panted, stretching his back against the boards, “I did.  Mostly.”

Celestino’s laugh echoed through the rink as he clapped Yuuri on the back.  “I can tell you want this,” he said proudly. “I’m glad. For a while, I thought I’d lost my best skater.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes.  “Oh come on,” he groaned,  “that’s not—“

The stern angle of Celestino’s eyebrows warned him against anything self-deprecating.  

“Don’t you start,” he said, wagging a finger in Yuuri’s direction.  “That’s what the old Yuuri Katsuki would say. I don’t want to see him anymore.  Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Yuuri mumbled.

“Are you going to win Nationals?”

“I hope so,” he sighed.  “After last year—“

“Wrong,” Celestino corrected.  “You are going to win. Say it.”

“I’m going to win,” Yuuri muttered unconvincingly.  Celestino scoffed.

“If you can say that and believe it by the competition, you have nothing to worry about,  _ ragazzo _ ,” Celestino said with a sympathetic smile.  “Let’s see… Run through Eros once more and then we’ll spend some time on your quads.”

 

Nationals came before Yuuri knew what hit him.  The flight to Tokyo had him on edge before he even arrived at the hotel.  The ice show had gotten him back into the spirit of competition, excited once more to be on the ice and share his passion with the world, but the reality of actually competing hadn’t really sunk in until now.

The reality of leaving Hasetsu hadn’t really sunk in until now.

Celestino had tried in vain their first few hours after settling in to get Yuuri to at least come out to eat with him, maybe get a drink and relax a little bit.  Honestly, Yuuri was tempted to break his self-imposed rule about staying dry before competitions, but there was no way his coach could make him do it anywhere other than the comfort and safety of his suite, situated safely in the middle of the block of rooms the ISU had booked.  As far as he was concerned, Yuuri didn’t need to see Tokyo beyond the hotel and the rink, where security personnel was stationed around the clock.

Instead of going out with his fellow competitors, instead of sight-seeing with Minako and Mari, Yuuri spent the whole of his stay in Tokyo holed up in his bed under an impossibly soft feather duvet, playing video games to keep his mind occupied and sleeping whenever he couldn’t focus his eyes anymore.

Celestino was all too vocal about his concern at practices, and Yuuri chose to ignore the frowns and mutters when he turned down the countless invitations from his competitors to go out to dinner or join them in one of the hotel rooms for a movie.

The day of the competition, Yuuri wondered if maybe Viktor would surprise him.  Of course, he hoped their next meeting was sooner rather than later, and of course, he wanted more than anything to show Viktor the routine he’d inspired.  On the other hand, he couldn’t stomach the idea of Viktor risking his own safety just to see Yuuri compete. 

He was halfway through his pre-warmup meditation, his heart rate finally somewhere near resting, his head clear of any intrusive worries, that he decided he’d rather skate for Viktor.  He knew it wasn’t likely, and he knew it was selfish, but it was too late to change his short program, and he only ever intended to skate On Love: Eros for Viktor and Viktor alone.

“Please watch me,” he prayed.  

When he took the ice for his short program, he was thankful to have left his contact lenses behind.  He didn’t want to see any of the spectators. This wasn’t for any of them, anyway. He told himself Viktor was out there, and to make this count.  

The emotions from the last few weeks they’d spent together had been gathering in his chest, accumulating over each passing day until he felt full to bursting.  Everything Viktor made him feel was more significant than he’d ever be able to articulate in words, and now, more than ever, whatever they had between them was something tangible, a physiological gravity that left his body yearning for his touch.  He felt Viktor in every inch of his body, or rather, he felt the absence of Viktor—the need for proximity. When the music stopped and the audience applauded, Yuuri tried to see Viktor’s face out in the stands, to see just that look of excitement and surprise.  But there was nothing but the rippling blur of the crowd.

By the end of the first day, he was in first place by a wide margin.

One of the junior skaters latched onto Yuuri for the entirety of the competition, cornering him anytime they ran into each other and showering him with praise.  He was a little over-enthusiastic, if not a little annoying, and Yuuri recognized him as the boy who would one day kick his ass in the seniors' division. 

“Katsuki-senpai, I can’t tell you enough how much of an honor it is to skate with you at Nationals!  You’re a hero!” the boy kept repeating. “I hope one day I can make you proud!”

Yuuri laughed a little at that.  Proud wasn’t exactly the best description for how he felt last time he met Minami-san… well, Minami-kun now, it would seem.  Impressed, maybe. Mostly, he’d been too devastated by his loss to really form an opinion about any of his competitors.

He couldn’t let that slip, though.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, really, so he offered a hurried “good luck” and escaped to some secluded corner of the rink to wait until the final scores were out.

Yuuri took gold by a landslide, earning the title, “Best in Japan,” for the third time in his life.  The rush was enough to make him forget about whether or not Viktor was watching and who else, unsavory or otherwise, might have their eye on him.

Regardless, the euphoria faded back into anxiety by the time he was back in the hotel, and he decided to skip the banquet and pack for his flight home.

He thought, like he’d thought every night before this, that being alone would relax him.  It was supposed to feel safe, the cover of the ISU and the magnetic lock on the door of the suite.  He even turned the little interlocking jamb in the top corner, an extra precaution in case the mechanism should fail.  Better safe than sorry, right?

But like every night before this, he was wrong, and he could feel the burn of bile in his throat as he worked on keeping his breathing steady.  Almost immediately the temptation overcame him, and he grabbed a miniature bottle of shochu from the mini bar just off of the kitchenette (one of Celestino’s preferred perks).  He downed it in a few gulps, bracing himself as the sharp sting of alcohol diffused down into a dull, buzzing warmth in his shoulders and chest.

He perched on the edge of the couch, trying to focus on relaxing his neck and shoulders, or even to sit still at all—eventually, he stood and began to pace around the room, half paying attention to the game he was playing on his phone.  Somehow, the sound effects coming from the device’s little speakers didn’t really seem like sound anymore; they certainly weren’t filling the empty silence in the room. Yuuri turned the TV on. Local news. He tweaked his gait just a little and started walking figures around the living room, gaze fixed on his phone and ears not really picking up anything at all.  Just before he hit the couch, he spun on his heel and fell backward, miscalculating his angle just a little and knocking his head off the arm as he landed.

“Shit,” he muttered, rubbing the stinging spot on the back of his head.

There was a sharp knock at the door.  Yuuri froze, considering briefly whether he should turn the TV off or keep the sound going.  The little din he’d created was a sure signal that he wasn’t out and probably gave away enough to suggest he was by himself too.

“Shit.”

He held his breath, trying to muster the will to move, hoping to god whoever it was would give up.  There was a second knock, then a third. Then a fourth.

It was almost a full two minutes before he found his legs, and even then he crept painfully slowly towards the door, careful to shift his weight just so with every movement, sure every step would give him away.

He suddenly found himself wishing he had gone for drinks with Minako and Celestino.

He padded softly and deftly over to the door and set about figuring out how to peek out the keyhole without shifting his weight against the door.  A voice from out in the hallway made him jump, low and urgent.

“Yuuri my love, I can hear you.  Can I please come in?”

Yuuri threw the door open the second he recognized the Russian accent, and sure enough, as the door caught on the jamb, he caught sight of broad, strong shoulders and the glint of silver hair.

He almost took his own fingers off fumbling with the jamb and then Viktor was inside, and the door slammed shut behind him, and weight and warmth pinned him back against it as Viktor crushed his lips against Yuuri’s, his fingers teasing at the back of Yuuri’s neck as he tangled them in his hair.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri gasped against Viktor’s lips.  “This is a horrible idea, there’s ISU every—”

Viktor brushed his hands down over Yuuri’s cheeks until they were cupping his jaw, taking advantage of Yuuri’s words to slip his tongue over Yuuri’s bottom lip.

Something caught Yuuri’s attention as his breath left him in a heavy sigh.  Viktor’s hands were warm against his skin, but there was something else too, heavy and smooth against his left cheek that made Yuuri break away, turning to look at Viktor’s hand.

The lamplight of the hotel room caught off a pristinely-polished gold ring.

“Huh?  Where’d you get that?” he blurted, turning his gaze back up at Viktor.  Those blue eyes sparkled with a new light, and Yuuri realized they hadn’t really even looked at each other yet.  He wasn’t sure if he was only feeling the shochu now or if this was something else entirely, something Viktor. 

“Shhh, shh.” Viktor smirked, leaning back in for another kiss.  “Don’t you worry about that, love.”

_ Love.   _

Yuuri had heard it when Viktor was still outside too, but he hadn’t really processed it until now.

That was new.  Well, sort of. He’d heard it once before, the first time they met.

His surprise must have been evident, because Viktor jerked his head back, searching Yuuri’s face for a moment, his tongue caught between his teeth.

“We haven’t said that yet have we,” he said, wincing.  Yuuri nodded. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“We need to get out of here,” Yuuri breathed, certain they wouldn’t be able to talk about the L-word if his coach came back and caught them like this. His fingers curled into the fabric of Viktor’s shirt.  “Celestino—”

Viktor’s lips silenced him once again.  “Lend me your mask and your hat,” he said.  His tone, deliberate and delicate, had a surprisingly calming effect on Yuuri.  “I’m in a hotel down the street.”

As Viktor tucked his hair up into a beanie in the mirror by the closet, Yuuri shot a quick text to Celestino.

 

_ When are you coming back? _

 

A few moments later, a response appeared.

 

_ We’ll leave in a while. _

 

_ I’m going out with some _ _   
_ _ other skaters, I think. _

 

_Good for you!  Don’t be_ _  
__out too late, remember_ _  
__we have an early flight_ _  
___tomorrow.

 

   When Viktor was satisfied with his appearance, they made their way out into the hall and down the back stairs, taking care to keep their pace steady but unassuming, Viktor tugging lightly on Yuuri’s arm as he rushed him out of the hotel and into the busy street below.

   What on earth was he doing?  This was so stupidly dangerous, venturing away from ISU protection with the man who, as far as he was concerned, had invited danger into Yuuri’s home the first time they met.  But at the same time, the tension of fear and anticipation was gone from Yuuri’s chest; in fact, his heart was racing. It felt thrilling, more than anything else—romantic in a way he usually associated with epic dramas and action TV shows.  

   He wished he could just keep running like this, follow Viktor as far as they could go, leaving all the struggles and stresses of Nationals and the Agency and everything else behind.  But he knew he couldn’t. He was already in Viktor’s future. He’d have to leave eventually, knowing the next time they met would be Viktor’s last day. Yuuri’s presence in Viktor’s future was brief and finite.  At least this way, this arrangement they currently had going, he could live without the burden of knowing just how long he had.

   Viktor’s hotel room was modest compared to the ones the ISU had booked, primarily consisting of a bed and a chair and a suitcase stand, but little else.  It was dimly lit by a single floor lamp in the corner and the cold, neon light seeping in through the windows. Yuuri noted that even in the dark, light danced off the gold ring that had appeared back on Viktor’s right hand.

   They laid together in the bed for hours, drifting in and out of conversation, filling every second of silence between them with long, desperate kisses, barely ever pulling far enough away to have to draw back in for another.  Their hands explored and teased and traveled as they talked as if they were getting reacquainted to the feeling of being next to one another. Viktor feathered his fingers over Yuuri’s shoulder blades and down his spine, coming to rest in the small of his back, where they really would have been overwhelming if he hadn’t adjusted the pressure of his touch just so.  Yuuri knew Viktor was admiring the spots where his skin dimpled in the back, an area of his body he’d always been self-conscious about but that Viktor couldn’t get enough of. He drifted his fingertips across the collar of Viktor’s tee shirt, then up along the column of his throat, tracing them along Viktor’s jaw as he talked and watching the little bursts of pleasure flash across his face.

   “So…” Viktor hummed, sliding his hands a little lower down Yuuri’s back and fingering questioningly at the waistband of his track pants, “I’m curious about the inspiration for your short program.”

   The sudden sensation of skin on skin made Yuuri shudder, and this time it was he who pushed Viktor back with a hand on his shoulder, rolling on top of him and tugging at the hem of his tee shirt.  Viktor groaned, grinding his hips beneath him as he divested himself of the garment.

   “You came,” Yuuri breathed. Viktor nodded, looking all but helpless beneath him, his pupils blown wide.

   “I had to see you.”

   “I told Celestino I think of eating katsudon,” Yuuri teased, leaning forward to trail kisses down Viktor’s chest, delighting in the sharp intake of breath that resulted.  Viktor exhaled on a heady little laugh, almost a sigh.

   “It’s entirely plausible,” he said, his voice strained and shaky as Yuuri flitted his tongue over his skin.  “Christ, Yuuri. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

   Yuuri didn’t need Viktor’s word to know that he had him aroused. He rocked back in Viktor’s lap just as he found the little raised nub of his nipple.  Viktor gasped, his fingers digging into Yuuri’s hips as his head shot off his pillow. The stream of Russian pouring from his lips sounded absolutely filthy, and Yuuri wanted to taste every syllable.  He remembered the way his body ached as he skated his short program, drawn to the mere idea of Viktor like this, flushed and squirming beneath him.

   “Viktor—” he murmured, but Viktor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

   “Vitya,” he corrected.  “You should… you should call me Vitya.”  He craned his neck up and thrust his lips forward into an irresistible pout, luring Yuuri in for another kiss, this one more desperate and demanding than before.  

   “Vitya,” Yuuri said, trying out the feel of the diminutive.  “Vitya. Vitya,” he repeated, Viktor drinking his words as they grasped at each other wherever their hands could reach.

   “Yuuri,” Viktor breathed into him.  “Is this okay?”

   “It’s so okay,” Yuuri laughed, brushing his lips open-mouthed against Viktor’s.  “It’s more than okay.” He let out a little involuntary moan as Viktor jerked his hips upward again.  “I love you, Vitya.”

   The expression on Viktor’s face was a gratifying mix of joy and love and amazement as he hooked his leg around Yuuri’s, using the leverage to flip them over until Viktor was seated prone between Yuuri’s thighs, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck as they rolled and lapping at his pulse point.

   Fireworks went off behind Yuuri’s eyelids as heat started to pool low in his abdomen.  Whatever this was, whatever it was leading to, he wanted it. He whispered as much into the part of Viktor’s hair, raking his fingers along Viktor’s ribs, acutely aware of the contact between their hips, the slip of fabric against fabric as they worked their bodies into a slow and sensual rhythm.

   “God, I love you so much,” Viktor moaned, mouthing at Yuuri’s collar.  “Are we doing this? Do—do you want to—“

   “Please,” Yuuri panted.  “Vitya, please.”

   “Are you sure?” Viktor asked, pulling back a few inches to take in Yuuri’s face.  “We don’t h—“

   Yuuri rolled his hips upward, breathing hard against the sensation of Viktor pressed against him as Viktor’s words dissolved into something reverent and gratified but entirely incomprehensible.

   “I’m sure,” he laughed, grinding into Viktor’s hip, “so shut up and fuck me.”

 

   It was hot and clumsy and agonizingly slow, and every second was its own little eternity.  And if Yuuri relented a little, giving Viktor reign to explore and play, well, hadn’t he earned a little bit of doting attention after winning a national gold?

   They fumbled and giggled their way through what Yuuri thought must have been the best bad first-time sex in recorded history.  One minute they were mumbling and adjusting, trying to find how they fit together best, the next Yuuri’s mind was nothing but ecstatic pulses, all fits and starts. Then Viktor was whining that he couldn’t hold out much longer, the words ragged and wrecked as they escaped his throat, and that was enough to send Yuuri over the edge.

 

   Two hours later, Yuuri pulled Viktor’s hat further down over his forehead outside his suite, Viktor’s hands still wandering idly along his sides and his hips as they kissed goodnight.

“You have to stop risking the ISU to get to me,” he whispered seriously, stroking Viktor’s face with the pad of his thumb beneath the face mask as he spoke.  “Not that I don’t love seeing you.”

Viktor laughed.  “You have no idea what kind of trouble I’ve managed to avoid.  And not to avoid,” he added with a wink. Yuuri didn’t love how dismissive he was about this.  

“I’m serious,” Yuuri pressed, driving home his point with a kiss to the forehead. You’re not invincible.  And I’m not ready to lose you,” he pleaded.

“I’ll be careful,” Viktor relented, squeezing Yuuri’s shoulders one last time before the latter slid his key card into the slot above the doorknob.  “I love you, Yuuri.”

“I love you too.” Yuuri smiled.

He’d never tire of saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be up November 5th, and our boys are headed to Barcelona!! See you then, and thanks for reading!


	4. Barcelona GPF (Y4V4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was my birthday, and Yuuri gave me something no one else could—something round and golden._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to post this chapter! (It's Barcelona. Come on. You all know what's happening!!)
> 
> Amazing art once again by the amazing [comeonandrockmyfandom](http://comeonandrockmyfandom.tumblr.com) (whose own [bang fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16520735) is now up!)
> 
> And thanks to [izzyisozaki](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com) for being a super-cool beta

The more he thought about it, the more Yuuri wished he’d taken the time to have the journal talk with Viktor.  Three weeks had passed since Nationals, and Yuuri had probably picked over every word of his notes regarding their meetings ten times.  

(He’d probably picked over his notes about their most recent meeting in Tokyo about twenty, honestly.)

They were getting sloppy.  Yuuri, specifically, was getting sloppy.  He was supposed to be the one policing this kind of information, considering how freely Viktor had started throwing around information in what they’d determined to be one of his earliest encounters.

(Yuuri had penned “V3” in bold, purple ink at the start of his account of their some-ought weeks together in Hasetsu, and “Y2” next to it in blue.  Of course, he knew the order in which he was running into Viktor without question, but so far Hasetsu was the only one he was entirely sure about. He knew he wouldn’t have a full picture of the various ways their timelines intersected until—well, when he got there, he’d know.  Hopefully it wouldn’t be for a long time.)

He still could not make sense of the entire situation.  Long ago, just barely on the cusp of May and April, Yuuri’s biggest concern was the creeping dread of a mysterious and unspoken danger that had made itself known just long enough to ensure that he was scared. Then, just as quickly as the threat had manifested itself, it drifted backward into the darkness and… disappeared?  Settled down to lie in wait? Set into motion the innermost workings of a plan that would come to a head sometime in the future?

Unfortunately, it would be optimistic to assume anything other than the last of those options.  The word “Beijing” had been thrown around too many times by different people for Yuuri to be comfortable with, especially considering he’d been placed there for the upcoming qualifiers for next year’s GPF.

The only thing now that kept him from dismissing Viktor—and skating itself, for that matter—in favor of his own security was that first encounter where he’d been swept off his feet.  Could such a thing even happen to someone else? Or was Yuuri acting entirely on a whim, powered by a single day’s worth of wistful glances and sadly sympathetic words from a man who still managed, despite his own apparent heartbreak, to teach him more about his own passion than two decades of school?

No matter how many times he tried to string together the pieces from all of their time spent together, they led him no closer to an answer.  Every day still ticked on like a countdown to Beijing, whatever Beijing meant.

At the very least, Yuuri had a few months to go until that—fateful?—day, and two competitions in between to keep him from drawing back into his own head and sequestering himself away in Hasetsu.

If Nationals had been any indication, he could expect more Viktor—and more clarity—at the Grand Prix Finale in Barcelona this upcoming week.  

This time, there wouldn’t be any opportunity for him to meet Viktor afterwards.  Celestino was on his case about sponsor relations and re-establishing his presence on the international stage after he missed the gala post-Nationals.  Yuuri wouldn’t be able to wait for Viktor to see his skate and come running for him. 

He spent the bulk of his 30 hours of travel trying to figure out some way to signal his arrival without attracting outside attention.  Viktor had suggested that cell phones might be unreliable with all of their temporal differences, but Yuuri thought he might also have harbored some worry about being traced.  

It made Yuuri wonder just what kind of people were after Viktor, and if those same people were the ones who had come for his life as well.

Celestino finally convinced him to take a sleeping pill halfway through his last flight. ISU officials were waiting for them at the gate, just as they had been in Tokyo.

Sometimes low-profile felt pretty high-profile.  Yuuri wasn’t sure if the security was very worth all the attention it drew.  He found himself craning his neck around to watch the cars around them on the highway as they were shuttled to the hotel in the heart of Barcelona, trying to determine whether or not they were being followed.

They were, he concluded.  Of course they were. Airport to hotel was such a common route.  He’d have to take the guard of the tall, muscular men stationed silently around him for granted, at least for sanity’s sake.

Was this living?

 

The first evening in the hotel stretched out before him like the promise of eternity, and yet there were only a few hours before he’d see midnight turn over into morning and he’d have to force himself to sleep.  Celestino was back at the airport greeting Phichit as he arrived—how the Roamer coach managed to work with a typical student was beyond Yuuri. Nevertheless, he was excited to be reunited with his old rinkmate. He was hoping, if the evening brought no surprises, that the two could lounge together in the suite, catching up on the journals that they used to keep track of their friendship and probably watching The Skater and the King if Phichit had any say in it.  (He would.)

The possibility of finding Viktor felt somewhat supernatural as Yuuri poked at the leftover bits of his travel snacks from his carry-on.  The sembei were stale, but they were enough to calm his churning nervous stomach as he paced, inspecting the amenities of his and Celestino’s joint living situation.

It would be tempting, if Viktor showed up early enough that they could see one another for a few days, to try and spend the night wherever his boyfriend was holed up.  He knew Celestino would ask questions, though. He knew Celestino would want answers.

Was this sustainable?

He was scrolling through movies on Netflix when, as if out of nowhere, a lithe, blond teen appeared next to the coffee table, making Yuuri spill his tea all over his lap.

“Shit! Yurio, what the hell?” he cried.  The kid’s laughter was merciless as Yuuri tried to dab his crotch dry with a nearby throw pillow.

“God, you are so easy,” Yurio chuckled, clapping a hand to his forehead.  “That’s going to get me through the week, Katsudon, I hope you know that.”

 

“Aren’t you staying in this hotel?  On this floor?” Yuuri sighed, crossing the open-plan suite to his bed and dropping his jeans, ignoring the way the teen’s mirth shifted abruptly to disgust in response.  “Most people knock.”

Yurio stole the couch as Yuuri dug through his suitcase for a clean pair of jeans.  “Most people don’t have an idiot criminal-on-the-run guilting them into delivering a message to his idiot boyfriend,” he replied drily.  “Didn’t I warn you at some point to save yourself the trouble?” he asked, kicking his shoes off and propping his feet up on the arm of the sofa.  “I’ve gotta remind myself to do that. That shitty old man has been in and out of j—“ he stopped himself, casting a sideways glance at Yuuri as he did.  “Well,” he corrected, “you probably already know all about that, don’t you?”

By the way he smirked as he awaited response, Yuuri assumed his silence spoke volumes.

“He’s basically a pro at breaking out at this point,” Yurio mused, examining his cuticles as he lounged back and adjusted a pillow under his head.  “But if I were him, I wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place.” He let out an undignified snort and thrust a hand up over his head as Yuuri approached again.  In it was the room card from a hotel Yuuri remembered seeing a few blocks down as they arrived that day. “And before you ask, yes, I’m the reason he gets as far as he does before they get to him,” he drawls.  “So you’re welcome, or whatever.”

Yuuri let everything the teen had just said sink in.  Viktor was in… 

“Jail?”

He thought about the gun trembling in that pale, slender hand.  Would that be the first time Viktor killed someone?

Yurio seemed to read his mind.

“Look,” he said, his teasing expression suddenly shifting into something severe and commanding.  “Viktor’s done a lot of stupid things, and getting involved with…  _ certain people in this sport _ … is one of them.”  He sat up and pushed the long, fine strands of his blond hair back from his face, and for the first time, Yuuri saw something in his eyes reminiscent of the constant, underlying sadness he saw in Viktor’s.  Yurio, all sixteen years of him, looked tired. “It’s hard to figure out what I can and can’t tell you,” he admitted. “All I can say with confidence is there are people who are after him because they believe he did it, and people who are after him because they believe he didn’t have the balls to do it.”

Yuuri sank down onto the coffee table until he was face-to-face with the younger man.  He searched those eyes, usually so sharp but softened by the vulnerable look of real, actual concern in his face, for any hint of the answer he knew he wouldn’t get.

“Do what?”

The silence that followed made them both aware of the footsteps coming down the hall, and Yuuri recognized Celestino’s booming voice coming closer with every second.

“I have to go,” Yurio said.  “Don’t leave the idiot waiting too long, he went through a lot to get here.”

Yuuri nodded obediently.

“And hey,” Yurio added, “you probably shouldn’t talk about any of this to the version of me that’s jet-lagged and passed out down the hall.  ’Kay?”

And with that, he was gone.

 

Phichit, as it turned out, was just as jet-lagged as Yuuri, and after they exchanged hugs and took a “reunited and it feels so good” selfie, the Thai skater collapsed into bed, still in his coat and scarf.

Yuuri was embarrassed to admit he was relieved.  He could just barely feel the key card’s shape in his back pocket.  He realized he had no qualms about letting his friend sleep as the image of Viktor’s bare chest panned across his memory.  He mumbled some excuse about wanting to see Christophe to the half-asleep Celestino before wrapping his scarf around his face and slipping out of the suite.

_ So Yurio was involved all along, huh? _ he wondered as he watched his shoes shuffle along the sidewalk, doing his best to keep his head low without drawing too much attention to himself.   _ And Viktor… _

Just like before, this hotel was a few stars shy of Yuuri’s, and just like before, it didn’t matter.  When Yuuri let himself into the room, a brief scan informed him that it was empty but that Viktor was around; he recognized the maroon v-neck that lay crumpled on the nearest bed.  He sat down next to the shirt and lifted it to his face, breathing in the comfortable, familiar smell as the soft fabric brushed against his skin.

The sense of ease that the sensation brought him was immediate, softening his shoulders as he curled his legs up onto the mattress beside him. And if he dozed off a little while still clinging to the piece of clothing, well, he’d just flown halfway around the world, hadn’t he? Anyone would be jet lagged.

Yuuri awoke to a cold, wet weight enveloping him and stopping him from reflexively jumping a whole meter in the air from being shaken awake by a tipsy and dripping-wet Viktor.

“Vitya!” he gasped, his chest seizing at the icy droplets that trailed off of his lover’s bangs as the Russian traced a line of kisses down his sternum. “God, любовь, you’re shivering!”

Viktor found the hem of Yuuri’s shirt and lifted it just enough to blow a raspberry just below his navel, his arms bracing against Yuuri’s writhing and squirming as the Roamer choked out a fit of breathless laughter.

“Hold me, if I’m so cold, and warm me up!” Viktor grinned, nuzzling into Yuuri’s hoodie. “When did I tell you to start calling me Vitya? I like it,” he purred as his arms snaked around Yuuri’s middle and held on tight.

“Spoilers,” Yuuri huffed, doing his best to breathe normally as Viktor kissed his way back up to his cheek.  “Is it okay? Isn’t that a th—” his words dissolved into a moan as Viktor nipped at his clavicle, disproving Yuuri’s previous belief that he couldn’t possibly shiver any harder.

As if reading his mind, Viktor found the edge of the down comforter and pulled it up over their heads, pinning Yuuri to the mattress in the process and collapsing down into him.

“It’s perfect, Yuuri, it couldn’t be more perfect,” he murmured.  “I don’t think you realize how amazing it is to hear you say that name.”

The next forty minutes was a blur of deep, desperate kisses and tangled limbs as they warmed one another up under the comforter.  Last time had been chatty, experimental, and precious, but Yuuri could feel the aching draw of yearning as he gripped at the delectable firmness of Viktor’s thighs and ass.  He didn’t care what they did, he  _ wanted _ , and from the uneven rasp of Viktor’s panting, he could tell he was not the only one.

The world outside of this room was cold and madness, but at least he was with someone who understood that.

Neither of them truly got over the initial chill of Viktor’s post-swim ambush until much later, when they couldn’t take the cold anymore and decided to warm up together in the shower.  The steam rose and curled around their shoulders as they pressed together under the modest shower stream; the water pressure left something to be desired, but the warmth and the feeling of Viktor’s skin against Yuuri’s brought back memories of their late nights sneaking into the hot springs after everyone had gone to bed, and Yuuri couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in that moment.

Viktor’s skin practically glowed pink under the hot water, and ghosts of Yuuri’s fingertips lingered everywhere that he touched.  The hot water enhanced every sensation, from the feel of Viktor’s hands gently lathering lotion soap over his flight-sore back and shoulders, to the musky, clean smell of his skin, to the slightly metallic taste of the shower water streaming or beaded over every inch that Yuuri was currently exploring with his teeth.

There wasn’t an ounce of restraint between them, and it didn’t take long before they were locked into a furious rhythm.  They thrust desperately against one another as the continuous crashing of their hips together tore deep, obscene moans from their throats that echoed around the tiny bathroom.

Yuuri had never felt a desire so animal, and the clarity that rushed into his head after he finished was like that first breath after rising to the surface of a deep pool.  He may as well have been in a trance and then snapped back to reality, and when he looked up, Viktor was gazing down at him with total amazement.

“Don’t go,” he panted, the focus still returning to his eyes.

“I won’t,” Yuuri grinned.

They dressed in silence, a pleasant haze hanging in the air around them.  Yuuri watched Viktor slide into his track pants from the edge of the bed, and when the older man sat back against the headboard, Yuuri crawled into the space between his legs and laid back against him, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder.  They stayed there in silence for a long time before either spoke, pulses slowing together.

There was not a single instance of Yuuri looking up that he was not met with the adoring gaze of ice-blue eyes.

Viktor’s comforting embrace did nothing to help with his jet lag, but it was still quite early in the evening.  When Yuuri did finally speak, it was only to keep himself awake. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you until the final.” He sighed, adjusting so he wasn’t quite so horizontal.  Viktor took that as a cue to sit up, hoisting Yuuri up onto his lap as he did.

“I’ve been waiting for a few days, actually,” he murmured, his breath tickling the little hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck.  “It’s beautiful here around Christmas time. Let me take you sightseeing, Yuuri.”

Yuuri entertained the idea for a moment, imagining the breathtaking way strings of colored lights would dance off the shimmering silver of Viktor’s hair.  He imagined the perfect stillness of snowy streets, bustling with people but hardly noisy, and what it would be like to walk together, hand-in-hand among the crowd as if either of them were in any way free to do so, protected from prying eyes by scarves and hats.

It was almost enough to make Yuuri say yes.

“You know we can’t,” he chided, bristling a little beneath the kisses Viktor was peppering along his collar, but not pulling away entirely.  “It sounds lovely. But—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor whined into his neck.  “I’m tired of this. What are we supposed to do, stay inside forever?”

“It might not be a bad idea,” Yuuri muttered, standing to cross the room.  “We both have people we’re trying to avoid.”

Viktor ducked his head just enough to hide his scowl behind the cascade of his bangs.  “I just want to go shopping,” he grumbled. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to just give up my normal life?  I’ve had to leave my dog behind, all of the friends I made skating—” 

For a moment, it was apparent he was floundering; his mouth moved as if there was so much more just underneath the surface that had to remain unsaid.  Eventually, Viktor set his jaw in a stubborn pout, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor in front of him. They sat in silence once again for a few minutes, only moving every now and then to check their phones or shift position.

Viktor was being childish.  What was Yuuri supposed to do?   _ Undo _ everything that had brought them together?  These were the circumstances; he’d accepted it, why couldn’t Viktor?

This thought burned on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick a fight.  He farmed resources on his mobile game, glancing up every so often to see if the sour expression, that twisted that otherwise pleasant face into something pitiful and infuriating, had softened.

“We’re not talking,” Viktor finally grunted, throwing his phone down and curling up on his side in the bed.  “How can I know how to help you if you aren’t talking to me?”

It was still a pout, and it was still leverage, but Yuuri had to admit, he had a point.

“You’re asking me for honesty,” he wagered.  It was not quite a question, but it was enough to elicit an answer.  Viktor responded with a barely-perceivable nod.

“Well, I think I was pretty honest when I told you I’d be more comfortable staying here,” Yuuri muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.  

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his lips, but he was finally starting to feel the weight of their situation bearing down on him, magnified by the wounded look in Viktor’s eyes as he sat up to face him.  

“God, no, I’m sorry,” he corrected, pushing his glasses up a bit to rub at the bridge of his nose as he tried to chase away the bitterness starting to creep up on him.  “You’re right, the only way we’re going to stay sane is if we’re open and honest with each other.” He re-adjusted his glasses, not sure what to do with his hands next, finally allowing them to drift up to rub little circles into his temples as he thought.  “What’s the last thing in your journal?  _ Place,” _ he corrected, “Where’s the last place?”

The look of hurt was intermingled with concern now.  “Hasetsu,” Viktor responded.

“How many times have we met?”

“Four.  Yuuri, please come sit down,” he pleaded, patting the mattress beside him, and it wasn’t until then that Yuuri realized he was pacing, bouncing arbitrarily from one wall to the other.  He took his place beside Viktor, but didn’t settle; he could feel the stiffness in his back and shoulders as he stared down into his lap.

“There,” Viktor soothed, rubbing little circles into his back.  Yuuri had braced himself against the touch at first, expecting pins and needles under Viktor’s fingers, but once again Viktor had some subtle way of applying just the right amount of pressure.  “Please, Yuuri, tell me what’s on your mind,” he said, bowing his head until they were eye-to-eye.

Yuuri sighed.  “You know I can’t—” he started, but Viktor stopped him with an outturned palm.  

“Tell me what you can,” Viktor said with a smile.  “I won’t venture to make assumptions.”

Yuuri bit his lip as he tried to gather his thoughts into something that would be enough to effectively convey his concerns without coming off as alarming or giving away too much.  He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. If Viktor felt any degree of impatience, he didn’t show it.

“Not too long before we, um…” Yuuri started, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Met” would be inaccurate for both of them, but nothing else really seemed to fit that script.

“Started dating?” Viktor suggested.  Yuuri couldn’t figure out his expression as he waited for confirmation.  He nodded slowly, still turning over the Hard Thing he had to say next in his head as he did.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.  “Yeah, not too long before then.”  He sucked in a deep breath of air. “Someone I love… Someone died,” he posited slowly, carefully considering each word as it left his lips.  “And I was supposed to, I think.”

Viktor’s expression remained solemn and unchanged as he took in this new information.

“And I have spent the past few months waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Yuuri continued. He watched Viktor’s face drop into a dark scowl until it was entirely too much for him and he had to drop his eyes to focus on the wrinkles in the bedsheets in front of him.  “I’m terrified, Vitya, of whoever is out there looking for me. I’m terrified for myself, for my family, and for you.”

Strong arms drew him close and he fell lightly into Viktor’s chest as the older man wrapped him in a tight, protective hug.

“You’re brave, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor whispered.  “You’re so brave, and I am such a coward.”

“Vitya…” Yuuri protested, wrenching himself backward out of Viktor’s grasp at that, and was met with the same gravity as before.

“I watched my world come crumbling down all around me,” he said, his accent thick and voice raw with emotion, “and it was my fault.”  Yuuri felt his chest tighten as he watched Viktor fight to remain in one piece. “I wish I could tell you everything, and I am pretty sure I’ll never get a chance to, but Yuuri, you are the only thing that’s ever mattered since then, and I would risk anything to take you out, just this once, and have everything be normal.”

“Even prison?” Yuuri blurted, before he could stop himself.

A flash of surprise danced across Viktor’s face before being swallowed up again by distress.  He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to hold back his tears any longer, and nodded.

“How many times?” Yuuri asked.

“Four,” Viktor mouthed before pursing his lips once more.

“Why?  Why put yourself in danger knowingly?”

“For you.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No,” he said, aware that he was shaking, but unable to do anything about it.  “No, that’s not what I want.”

“I don’t care.”

Yuuri felt the heat rising in his face.  “Then let’s end this.”

He said it looking Viktor dead in the eye.  

“What?” Viktor said, and it was clear he didn’t understand.  Yuuri didn’t even really understand what he was saying, but he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way for me.  I’m not worth that. I didn’t sign up for that.”

He thought Viktor might explode.  Or implode. Or crumble into a billion pieces in front of him.  He waited in silence, eyes fixed on those lips pressed into a thin, straight line.

Viktor laughed.  And it was worse than all the previous possibilities combined, wounded and humorless.

“Wow,” he choked defensively.  “I didn’t realize Katsuki Yuuri was such a selfish person.”  

“Yeah,” Yuuri deadpanned, unfaltering, daring himself to push forward.  “Yeah, this is a selfish decision I selfishly made.” He watched the tears spill down Viktor’s face as if from another room, unsure why he suddenly felt so disconnected.  All he knew was that he was on a collision course with disaster either way he looked at it, and if he could keep Vitya safe, one way or another he would do it. All he wanted was for Vitya to be safe.  

But then, it was  _ Vitya _ crying in front of him.  And his heart broke in two.  He reached out to brush back the bangs that were plastering themselves to Viktor’s wet cheeks, but the latter swatted his hand away.

“What are you doing?” VIktor asked, his eyes like cold steel daggers.

“I just thought…”

“No, Yuuri, I’m mad,” Viktor growled.  “I was a hair’s breadth away from losing everything, and even then the only thing that mattered was you.”

And then Yuuri remembered.  

It didn’t matter.

None of this mattered.

None of this could change last April.  Because he’d been there. He’d experienced it.  He’d experienced twenty-three Viktor-less years before that.  Even if he stopped Viktor from getting caught again for now, he couldn’t stop what he’d already seen.  

At risk of a cataclysmic paradox.

“No more jail,” he ordered, doing his best to soften his features and holding out a hopeful hand in his boyfriend’s direction.  “Please? At least try for me.”

Viktor looked up at him incredulously, and he felt his stomach turn over.  My God, what had he almost done?

“Vitya, I am so, so sorry,” he pleaded, suddenly aware how terribly obtuse he was being.  “I… I don’t think I could break up with you if I tried.”

Viktor laughed wetly again, wiping his eyes, and this time Yuuri felt the tension that had built up between them dissipate a little.  

“You had me fooled,” he said sardonically. “That really hurt.”

“I know,” Yuuri said with a little wince.  “I… I don’t always mean what I say, when I’m anxious,” he explained, inching closer experimentally and feeling a tiny bubble of relief in his chest when Viktor didn’t recoil.  “And a lot has me anxious these days.”

Viktor avoided Yuuri’s gaze as he pulled himself together, wiping his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his shirt.  Yuuri took notice of the fact that once again, Viktor’s right hand was devoid of that gold ring. How it had taken him until now to notice, he had no idea.  He’d spent the past few weeks thinking about nothing else. 

And then it dawned on him.  He’d messed up considerably in the past hour or two, ruining some amazing sex with some nearly-irreparable conflict.

He needed to make it up to Viktor, and he needed to make it up to himself.

Viktor was right.  This was not living.

“Take me sightseeing,” he said, suddenly, unable to mask the urgency in his voice.  Viktor looked up, surprised, and Yuuri almost melted at the way those beautiful azure eyes lit up, half-hopeful underneath the hurt.

“Really?”

Yuuri held out a hand to take Viktor’s in his, and Viktor tackled him into the mattress in response.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he sniffed, burying his face into Yuuri’s shoulder.  

“I won’t,” Yuuri promised. And he was prepared to show he meant it.

 

Once they were sufficiently bundled and covered and masked, Yuuri practically dragged Viktor down and out of the hotel, following his directions to the Christmas market as if on autopilot.  There needed to be something, some kind of shop that offered exactly what he was looking for. The streets were full of people strolling idly and huddled close together against the December chill, and it wasn’t until they reached the market that Viktor was able to convince Yuuri to slow his pace just a little bit.

Viktor bought them both mulled wine, but it was too close to the Final for Yuuri to be drinking, so he finished both of them himself.

The mood was not entirely back to what they were used to; they walked together in silence, still shaken by the argument that had almost torn them apart.  Yuuri couldn’t tell if Viktor had really forgiven him yet, and Viktor’s reserved air made him think that maybe it would take a little time for him to recover.

The street was lined with stands and carts sporting little trinkets and crafts, all standard gift-giving fare, as far as Yuuri was concerned. But nothing quite caught his eye until they’d almost reached the end of the street; as they passed royal blue storefront with elegant gold lettering, Yuuri saw a beautiful display of fine jewelry in the window—nothing too fancy, but not the cheap stuff they’d seen up until now.  

It was perfect.

“In here,” he said, tugging Viktor through the door with him.  Once they were inside, the butterflies in his stomach really began to flutter.

There was no going back now.

Yuuri scanned the display cases in silence, acutely aware that Viktor was watching him with quiet wonder as he tried to find the right one—he would know the ring when he saw it.

He was buying Vitya a ring.

Viktor made no attempt to stop or question him, and eventually he saw it, pristinely-polished and shining radiantly underneath the little LED lights.  It was boxed as a pair.

_ Perfect. _

He made sure they were correctly sized, and then made the purchase without hesitation.  They were only a little more expensive than the most expensive skates he’d had to buy, but as far as he was concerned they were worth every penny.

“Come on,” he muttered to Viktor, who at this point was just staring dumbly as he tried to process everything that had just transpired.  Yuuri pulled his mask back up over his face and started off again, calling out a quick thank you to the store clerk as he dragged Viktor out the door.

“Yuuri, where are we going?” Viktor asked as he trotted along behind him, his voice tinged with excitement.  

“You’ll see.”

When they reached the church, Yuuri slowed once more, but kept his grip on Viktor’s hand tight as he led him up the stairs to one of the chapels inside.  Here, they were secluded, and Yuuri wanted to believe that they were safe too. He pulled off his myriad of outerwear and waited for Viktor to do the same before producing the little velvet box from his pocket.

“Yuuri,” Viktor started, but Yuuri quieted him with a little chaste kiss before sinking down onto one knee and opening the box up in front of him.

“Vitya,” he breathed, aware that even in the seclusion of the chapel his voice would carry, “everything was so much easier until you.”

(His heart pounded in his ears.) 

“I thought I was happy with where I was.  I was comfortable being at home, staying out of trouble, and not pushing myself to do anything that might result in danger or failure.”

(Viktor’s eyes were so beautiful, wide and bewildered as they were.) 

“You ruined everything.  You pulled me out of my comfort zone and into something crazy and scary and wonderful.  I almost let that go today without realizing just how important it was to me.” The box trembled in his hands as he stood, prying one of the gold rings out of its cushioning.  

“You know as well as I do that we have an expiration date,” he said, trying in vain to control the quavering in his voice, “but I think it’s safe to say that we’ve both still got some time left to enjoy one another.  Vitya, I’ll be with you until the day you leave, no matter what.” He took Viktor’s hand in his, the other hovering in front of it with the ring. “Will you marry me?”

Viktor nodded, licking his lips as he blinked back tears—happy ones this time—and Yuuri slipped the cool piece of metal over his finger, where it fit perfectly, glimmering in the candlelight.  They both admired it for a moment before Viktor threw his arms around Yuuri, squeezing him with all his might. Yuuri laughed, his own tears of joy splattering the lenses of his glasses as he pressed the clamshell box into Viktor’s palm.  

“I didn’t prepare anything to say!” Viktor laughed breathlessly, his face lit up with amazement.

“I didn’t either,” Yuuri grinned.

Viktor looked like he was just about at his emotional limit for the day, but he smiled despite it all and pulled the second ring from the box.

“Just never forget,” he said “I have loved you; I love you endlessly.  I have found my paradise on Earth with you, Yuuri. No matter what happens, please remember that.”  The cool metal sliding over Yuuri’s finger sent a shiver up his spine, and then they were kissing, not nearly as passionately as Yuuri wanted to, but with a tenderness that washed over him like the ocean breeze back home.  He melted into Viktor’s arms, and for a moment he considered once again whether or not they should just  _ go _ , run away together and never look back.

But there was one more piece of gold to deal with this week.

“I need to get back,” Yuuri said as they strolled back down along the street.  Viktor’s face dropped, but Yuuri nudged a little closer into him with a wry half-smile.  “We have a few more days, you know. I’m not going to be a stranger.”

“Good,” Viktor hummed, slipping off his glove to admire his ring in the light of the street lamps.  “I can’t believe…” he started, his voice trailing off dreamily as he rested his head lightly on Yuuri’s.  “You never stop surprising me.”

“I could say the same about you,” Yuuri mused.  “Look, I know we just… and it was unexpected, but…” He gazed up at the snow falling down around them as he tried to piece together what he was saying.  “I’d like to call you my husband.”

Viktor laughed at that, abandoning the hushed tones they’d adopted for their time out in public and throwing his head back in pure amusement.

“What?” Yuuri asked indignantly.  “I’m serious!”

“There’s no way I’m walking into a government building and putting my name on a legal document.” Viktor chuckled.  “Of course I’m your husband, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's! All! Down! Hill! From! Here!
> 
> (and I'm not sorry)
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Friday, November 9th, and it's gonna be intense, so get pumped!
> 
> ♥♥♥


	5. Rostelecom Cup (Y5V6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Y5V? - I think I know what comes next. Both for myself and for Viktor. It doesn't look good either way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [izzyisozaki](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta!

Yuuri clenched silver at the Grand Prix Final that weekend, falling behind Yuri Plisetsky by fractions of a point.  He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion from a week of late-night visits to Viktor’s hotel, or the emotional toll that their first big fight had taken on him, or the overall distraction from the excitement he still felt over the ring on his finger.

He’d considered, in the days leading up to the competition, going back into retirement after the final.  He’d imagined himself, finally with an international gold to show for all his hard work, returning to a comfortable and respectable life back in Hasetsu, finally deserving of the local attention and able to face his family with pride.

He thought about bringing Vitya with him, laying low and maintaining a friendly relationship with the local Agency branch.  Maybe, one day, they could face the conflict that had him hiding out from the officials, Roamer and typical alike. Then they’d really be free, able to count on the city’s protection without worry.

He told Yurio this.  Then Yurio beat him to the gold.  Which meant, naturally, Yuuri was in for another season.  Assignments came fast for Roamers, showing up on the official website mere moments after the final scores were announced.  Considering the current year’s qualifiers would be their ticket to the previous year’s final, it was only necessary. Yuuri didn’t envy the ISU suits who had to figure that stuff out.

He was placed in the Rostelecom Cup in Moscow, where he shared the ice with Yurio once again, and—

—and the Cup of China in Beijing.

If every day felt like one more tick in the countdown towards an unknown fate before, being able to put a date on it gave Yuuri a sickening sense of surreal finality.  Whatever he faced, or Viktor faced—who knew? Maybe both of them had something in store—it was coming soon.

This was what hung heavy on Yuuri’s mind as he chatted with news reporters and sponsors alike at the gala, on his last night in Barcelona.

(That, and the fact that he could easily have been back in Vitya’s hotel getting drilled into the mattress one last time before he had to leave.)

These events were  _ definitely _ not Yuuri’s thing, and all of the attention his silver medal had elicited had him feeling like the cross between a bobble head and a talking parrot, nodding politely and repeating the same few lines and phrases over and over again.

Once Celestino determined he’d given sufficient time to make the sponsors happy, Yuuri let Phichit steal him away and pump him full of some kind of pink, bubbly drink that tasted like pomegranate, and pretty soon his worries about the upcoming season gave way to much more important matters, like dancing out on the floor with Phichit and Christophe, finding more of those pomegranate-champagne things, and finding little blatant ways to bring attention to his right hand as they goofed off in one of the lesser-populated corners of the ballroom.  His efforts didn’t seem to be getting much notice from the other two skaters, though, and eventually, Yuuri cleared his throat and thrust his hand dramatically into their faces.

“You haven’t asked me once about my ring,” he declared with a little pout.  “I took a whole year off and I came back with better programs and a  _ gold ring?!” _  He turned his hand around and indulged in admiring it for himself.  “Peach, aren’t you going to ask me who it’s from?” he begged.

“I already know who it’s from,” Phichit replied casually, barely stopping to breathe before continuing to recount some anecdote to Christophe involving a Detroit hockey player and a kiddie pool full of jello.

_ “What?” _

“You’re wearing it on your right hand, Yuuri dear, that’s a Russian thing,” Christophe chimed in without amusement.  “Neither of you are exactly subtle.”

“Oh my god, you know him,” Yuuri gasped, failing to pick up on his friends’ mounting discomfort as they exchanged anxious glances.

“Yuuri, everybody knows him,” Phichit whispered, his tone suddenly tense.  “He was the record holder in every category until you and the other Yuri beat his scores this weekend.”

This wasn’t news to Yuuri, although he hadn’t really thought too seriously about the fact that Viktor’s past career meant that some of his rinkmates might have known him, even skated with him.

Christophe started to murmur something to the effect of, “We should not be talking about this right now,” although it got lost underneath Phichit’s continuous chatter.

_ “That guy _ is one of the most famous skaters in the world, and not just because he’s good.  But especially after what happened in Ch—“

Christophe’s glass clattered to the floor, shattering at their feet and causing Phichit to jump back in surprise.

“Whoops, oh my,” he feigned, and Yuuri  _ did _ catch the tension in his gaze as he spoke through gritted teeth.  “Oh well, good timing, because I could have sworn you were about to let a spoiler slip,” he hissed.

Phichit‘s face burned bright red.  “Oh my god, you’re right,” he whispered.  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He took Yuuri’s hands in his, squeezing them tight as he led him gingerly away from the broken glass.  “Yuuri, I’m sorry.”

“I think it’s time we go do some more dancing,  _ mes amis, _ ” Christophe decided, pulling a nearby chair over to prevent the spill from being stepped on.  “We wouldn’t want someone overhearing anymore of this nonsense.  _ If someone were to gather that any of us knew where he is,” _ he warned, his eyes flashing dangerously in Yuuri’s direction, “we’d be in some serious  _ merde _ , wouldn’t we?”

“I—I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Yuuri croaked, his throat suddenly dry.  He downed the remains of his drink and rushed for the exit, his head spinning from the alcohol and the excitement and everything he had just learned.

The hall was refreshingly quiet, in contrast to the bustling gala, and Yuuri considered just staying out here until Celestino left, if only it didn’t leave him feeling so exposed.

The bathroom was at the end of the hall, with a few other ballrooms and storage rooms in between it and Yuuri.  Dizzy and dazed, he shuffled along the wall, leaning on it ever so slightly for support as he honed in on the men’s room door—a goal so close, and yet so far away.  

When a hand gripped his bicep from behind and dragged him into a nearby storage room, Yuuri laughed.  

It was funny, after all, how worried he always was on trips like this, surrounded by the ISU and their associated security teams, when the only times he’d ever been caught by surprise had turned out to be Viktor.  

_ Stupid Viktor _ , he thought.  He couldn’t resist flirting with danger just to be close to Yuuri.  His attempts at maintaining stealth usually resulted in him essentially sneaking up on Yuuri and scaring the daylights out of him, just like this, just like in Tokyo.  

“Vitya,” he chuckled, “you have to stop scaring m— _ mmf _ —”

A hand that was definitely not Viktor’s clapped over his mouth as a person who was definitely not Viktor threw him roughly against the wall.  It hurt, he registered—a dull, throbbing ache in his head and shoulder where they’d made contact. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, worried he might vomit.

“You say one word,” hissed a sickeningly familiar voice, “and I’ll tell the Agency you’ve been meeting with Viktor Nikiforov in secret since his disappearance.”  Yuuri’s stomach dropped as he recognized the distinct accent, but regardless of how many times he’d replayed the events of  _ that night _ over in his head,  nothing could have prepared him for what— _ who _ he saw when he regained his focus.

“Otabek?” He gasped, and his fellow competitor responded by tightening his hold on Yuuri’s face, his palm pressing into Yuuri’s nose and mouth so hard that he had to fight to draw breath, wriggling uselessly against the wall as he struggled.  Otabek looked on joylessly, as if it didn’t matter to him how this interaction went. Or, possibly, as if he already knew  _ exactly _ how it would go.

“Think about what I  _ just _ said,” he muttered.  “Not. One. Word.”

Yuuri felt his pulse quicken as the room appeared to shrink inward on them.  He tried, in vain, to keep his eye contact with Otabek, but the figure danced and swirled in front of him.  A wave of nausea washed over him, and he feared for one, panicked moment that he would be sick and aspirate.

_ Who would think to look for him here? _

_ Who would tell Vitya? _

The air rushed back into his lungs as Otabek released him, and Yuuri fell forward onto his knees, catching himself just in time to expel the contents of his stomach on the floor.

_ Those pink drinks were called poinsettias. _

“Tell me what you know about Beijing,” Otabek demanded, pulling over a large paint bucket and perching casually on top of it, seemingly unbothered by the sight and smell of sick.

Yuuri shrugged.  He wasn’t sure how far “not one word” extended, but he wasn’t willing to test his limits.

“Jesus,” Otabek grunted.  “You can talk to answer questions.  I would just prefer if you made this easy for me and didn’t start screaming or something.”  He picked at the tread of his boots with the end of a screwdriver. ”Let’s assume I don’t believe you.  What do you know about Beijing?”

“A rift,” Yuuri rasped, resting his forehead on his fist and doing his best to stay alert.  “Vitya, Yakov… That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Otabek repeated incredulously.  “Beijing is within an arm’s reach and you say ‘That’s it’?” 

Yuuri laughed, in spite of the panic mounting in his chest.  “What kind of question is that?” He sank back onto his heels, taking care to keep his eyes down.  A flash of silver caught his eye as a pristinely-polished knife slid into his line of sight.

“One I would take a little more seriously if I were you,” Otabek warned.  “It would be a shame if Yakov discovered your little alliance.”

“Alliance…?” Yuuri breathed, trying to hold down another wave of nausea.  “No, that’s not—” 

“Shut up!” The impatience in Otabek’s voice was mounting at an alarming rate.  “I don’t give a shit what it is.” He stood up, knife still pointed in Yuuri’s direction.  It was curved on one end and serrated on the other, and Yuuri got the implication that it was probably very, very sharp.  “The only thing I give a shit about is how you and Viktor managed to  _ alter a fixed point in time _ without destroying everything.”

“A fixed point in t—“ Yuuri echoed.  

“Don’t play dumb, I know you’re not.” Otabek sighed. “You’ve been seen with Viktor before and after the event.  You’re not going to convince me you’ve got nothing to do with it.”

Yuuri swallowed back the bile in his throat and ventured to return Otabek’s stare.  The Kazakh’s face was stony, his body relaxed but positioned in such a way that he could easily meet any attempt at physical attack, like a cat ready to pounce.

Yuuri had escaped him once before, but not without Viktor’s help.  At least this time he knew he was saved by a fact he only now knew—Beijing was a fixed point in time—one where he was present.  Otabek wasn’t likely to kill him here. But that hadn’t stopped him trying at Hasetsu. The paralyzing fear in Yuuri’s chest was assuaged, even if the churning anxiety in his stomach was not.

“If you’re so sure I know,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the threat of tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, “then why won’t you tell me what happens?”

“Just following orders,” Otabek replied. The sound of voices outside startled Yuuri, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Otabek’s gaze dart to the door and back at him.  The knife was tucked back away into a sheath on his belt and he stood, adjusting his leather jacket. “I’d like to thank you for your cooperation, but—“

The door swung open, cutting him off.  Yuuri had yet to see an ounce of emotion in Otabek’s face, but he thought he caught a look of surprise flash across his features for just a moment as he froze in the doorway, face-to-face with a very suspicious Yuri Plisetsky.

“What the hell are you looking at, asshole?” Yurio snarled, shoving past Otabek into the close.  He wasn’t wearing the suit Yuuri remembered him wearing at the banquet.

“Yura—“ Otabek muttered, and Yuuri would have sworn that actual flames shot from the teen’s eyes.

“You have  _ no right _ to call me that,” he spat, kneeling down next to Yuuri.  “Why don’t you go find JJ? I bet he’s just  _ dying _ to find some way to fuck up his engagement.”

Otabek’s expression remained unchanged, but wounded anger burned bright in those golden eyes as he shot one last pointed glance in Yuuri’s direction.

“Until next time,” he deadpanned, and Yuuri never actually saw him leave; he was only aware that in the moments following, it was just him and Yurio in the secluded stillness of the supply closet.  He was vaguely aware that he was being held upright, but everything else held the desperate sensation of drowning; his clothes were drenched in ice-cold sweat and rose-colored sick, and every gasping breath gurgled through a thick layer of tears and snot.

“Jesus, you’re a mess,” Yurio muttered, peeling Yuuri’s suit jacket off of him and making a fruitless effort to dab at his front with a fistful of bar rags from a nearby bin.  “Did he hurt you?”

Yuuri did not know how to respond to that.  He choked out a little, wet sob in reply, bracing himself against a floor that wasn’t there.  “He killed—” he cried, but after that he could do little else but sputter and cough, his glasses fogging and spattered with the droplets that splashed off his eyelashes.

“I know,” Yurio soothed, “shhh, I know.  Come on, Celestino’s already upstairs. Can you walk?”

“I—I don’t know,” Yuuri said, hiccupping as he tried to steady his breathing.  “He’s the— He’s one of Yakov’s—” Yurio draped one of Yuuri’s arms around his shoulders and stood, a steadying hand affixed around his waist as he lifted the older Roamer to his feet.

“I’d watch what you say about Yakov around here,” he warned, letting go of Yuuri’s waist just long enough to snag a bottle of vodka, tucking it away into a mysteriously large hoodie pocket.  “No shorter career-ender than letting on you know the ISU is covering up a corrupt faction operating right under their noses, eh?” The laugh that followed was dark and foreboding, and if Yurio hadn’t been putting his own life on the line just to make sure he could see his husband every once and a while, Yuuri would consider being a little more cautious what he said around the young Russian.  “I cleaned up that whole fucking mess in Hasetsu, by the way,” Yurio added, his heavily-weighted pocket crashing against Yuuri’s hip with each step as he peered out into the hallway.

Empty.

“Those two… that was gruesome, even for Bek—uh, Otabek.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri affirmed, focusing on the shuffle of his feet against the intricately patterned carpet.  He hoped Yurio knew his room. “I’m t—”

“Hey, hey, stay with me, Katsudon,” Yurio groaned, giving Yuuri a little shake as he adjusted his hold on the older man’s arm.  “Yeah, I got Makkachin home safely too. She’s cool, for a dog, I guess.”

Something dinged, and Yurio kept talking, and something dinged again, and before he knew, Celestino was fussing and tutting over him in his thick, Italian accent.

“Your stupid skater got too drunk at the banquet,” Yurio whined as Yuuri felt the soft, inviting caress of his bed against his cheek.  

“Hey, where’d you get that bottle?” he heard Celestino grumble.  The linens smelled so fresh and were cool and comforting against Yuuri’s skin.

“Confiscated it off your boy here.  You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’ve half a mind to tell Yakov—”

“Hey, make sure he gets some clean clothes before he goes completely comatose; there isn’t a dry cleaner in the world who’s going to be able to revive that suit.”

  
  


As the anticipation ate at him in the interval between Barcelona and the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri forced himself to push down all his worries and focus on his skating.  He wanted to pull out one more surprise, and hopefully he could manage it before… before who-knows-what.

Something dull and heavy in the pit of his stomach told him the Cup of China marked the end of his time with Viktor, and he wanted— _ needed _ —to show his husband just how deeply his love had impacted him.

He had a feeling words wouldn’t cut it.  How could they? If China was Viktor’s first time meeting Yuuri, what could he possibly say to catch the attention of a man so poised and beautiful?

Nothing, nothing that wouldn’t be better said out on the ice, the way Viktor had once done for him.

There was a program that he and Viktor had been working on together, one that hadn’t quite gotten off the ground before they parted ways back in Hasetsu.  Yuuri had tried to embody his career as a skater in that free program, and it would appear, from its lackluster energy and stagnant tone, that he’d succeeded.

But he had something so, so much more powerful now.  He had a story that he wanted— _ needed _ —to tell, with one person at the center of it all.

One person who humble-bragged a little too profusely about his signature quad flip.

Yuuri worked himself to exhaustion most days, skipping more than one of his designated off days to sneak off and work the jump just that extra bit more, all the better to be certain of it come Beijing.

  
  


It wasn’t ready by the Rostelecom Cup, and that didn’t much matter to Yuuri, who once again had no clue whether or not Viktor would even be there to see.  However, with a Grand Prix Series silver under his belt and more confidence than he’d felt since Juniors, he was ready, even excited to present his programs on the international stage once more.

He had to keep reminding himself that this event, at least, was all about the skating.  He spent his time hovering around Yurio and avoiding literally everyone else, taking advantage of his friend’s connections to squeeze in some extra practice time in between official slots.

The Roamers always got the worst practice spots.  Even when Yuuri was in juniors, after the big push for civil rights back in 2020, the best hotel rooms and time slots still went to non-mutants.

“You’re still just a token,” Yurio joked, his voice dry with disdain for the system they were born into.  The two skaters stretched against the boards as Celestino and Yakov chatted nearby; it was dinnertime for everyone else, and according to the competitors’ group thread that was running in WeChat, all the other competitors were currently out to dinner together.

Yuuri sighed, his stomach rumbling, as he threw himself down on the bench to start lacing up his skates.  He’d forgotten about this feeling in the past few months, so preoccupied with impending doom and new love and trying to find Viktor in each new city he visited.  Before he retired, the crushing loneliness of being inadvertently (or, possibly, systematically) marginalized led him down a path of self- isolation and depression.  That, mixed with the pressure of competing, had worn him so thin that for a while, Phichit had to literally drag him out of bed to go to practice. Celestino always told him it was all in the interest of keeping future scores and other such protected information from influencing skaters’ performances.  But Celestino also said it with that sad look in his eyes.

“You should come by my room later,” Yurio offered casually, although Yuuri saw as he looked up that pointed stare the teen was giving him as he spoke.  “We can get room service and catch up.”

“Is anyone else going to be there?”

“Not officially,” Yurio said with a smirk, “although you never know, right?”

“No, you never know,” Yuuri murmured.  He wasn’t even sure the coded language he thought Yurio was sending his was was real or his own hopes projected onto their conversation.  Either he got to relax and distract himself from the nerves that were gradually mounting in his chest, or Yurio was once again harboring Viktor right under Yakov’s nose.  Honestly, it was a win either way, although Yuuri was certain which of those prospects he preferred.

He could hardly focus as Celestino drilled him through his step sequence for what felt like the twentieth time.  He was banned from jumps until the day of the short program, a decision on Celestino’s part that was loudly and repeatedly criticized from Yakov as the two skaters practiced.

Yuuri wanted to push.  The Rostelecom Cup could be the last chance he had to show what he was truly capable of.  He was the only one who could skate these programs with enough appeal, he was sure of it. He hoped the judges would see his skating and understand the mountains he’d climbed to get back to the passion he’d felt back when he was starting out—he hoped they’d hear the story that was burning impatiently in his chest, begging to be told.

When they were finished, Yurio and Yuuri walked back to the hotel together, toting along their gear and several big paper bags of pirozhki that Yurio’s grandpa had dropped off with Yakov while they practiced.

“I told him all about your mom’s katsudon,” Yurio explained as he swiped them into his hotel room.  “I bet he was feeling a little jealous.”

The room was empty.

“I thought you said he was going to be here,” Yuuri mumbled when Yurio caught the look of disappointment on his face.  “Were you just joking earlier?”

The blond teen let his feelings show for half a second, a momentary glare of annoyance before a sympathetic smile.  “I hold him he could meet me here,” he muttered, eyeing the room suspiciously. “He should have been here by now.”

Yuuri’s stomach dropped.  He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.  Not every competition could hold the promise of Viktor.  He just didn’t know how many competitions they had left.

“He’s probably fine,” Yurio reassured.  “He’s an idiot but he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, he’s probably fine,” Yuuri parroted.  

The tone of the evening was a little muted after that, but the two managed to relax a little and have some fun, even if “fun” meant zoning out on their respective phones while a Marvel movie ran in the background.  Yuuri’s eyes flitted around the apartment periodically, and he couldn’t stand admitting that he still held on to a little bit of anticipation. It could take one sideways glance, one blink of an eye, and suddenly Vitya could be in front of him, and the vise of worry would let up its relentless squeeze on his insides.  Instead, Yuuri found himself stuck in a cycle of ritualistic checking, a routine sweep of Yurio’s suite every few minutes until he could conclude once more that they were alone.

For better or for worse.

The younger skater walked him back to his room in time for an early sleep, but Yuuri did not sleep early.  After he said goodnight to Celestino, he slid beneath the fluffy white duvet and waited for a surprise that never came.  He must have fallen asleep at some point, but there was no distinguishing whether it had been after two hours or six; he woke up groggy and struck with an emptiness just beyond his regular morning hunger.

It was the day of the free skate, and Yuuri was not going to let himself fret.  He employed Yurio with the task of keeping him sane; they did all their waiting and stretching and warming up together as a rule anyway, so whenever they were together in the athletes’ lounge, Yurio stole his attention away with videos of cats—even the occasional dog video, which signaled to Yuuri that he was really feeling generous—and the kind of inane chatter that keep teens occupied.  Today, it was all Yuuri had, and he grasped onto it for dear life. 

Yuuri skated Eros with all the ferocity he could muster, inspired now by experience and memory rather than simply desire.  It was  _ fun _ , he realized in the middle of his combination spin, to get lost in the emotion and theme of the program.  It was fun to get lost in eros, especially, weaving little pastoral snippets of his own exploits, private and carnal as they were.  He knew, if Viktor had seen it, he’d have been enthralled.

Everyone had Yuuri cast as the competitor with the most potential for gold in this event, but all the same, JJ Leroy pulled ahead of him at the very end of the short program, leaving him with a drive to prove; to  _ win _ .

Yuuri hardly remembered dinner after the first round, or anything that may have occurred in between that and sleep.  He was spent, and he needed all the energy he could manage for the free skate the following day. Taking second place in the short left him with fairly good odds, but then again, it was the FS that really mattered, and the competition was  _ good _ .  Anyone who could beat Yurio was someone to be reckoned with, no matter how annoying he was.

Yuuri had to beat JJ.

On the second day of the competition, he was beyond distraction.  He had the gold in his sights, and he was not going to let anything get in his way.  He warmed up, planted himself in the athletes’ lounge, and put in his headphones, ready to rest and stretch until it was his turn.

Yuuri was not ready, however, for the face he saw peering in from a vacant hallway that led out into the maintenance offices.

“Vitya!” he hissed, springing to his feet and tackling the disheveled Roamer into the shadows and out of sight.  “What are you doing here? You can’t—”

“Shhh!”  Viktor accepted the mechanics of Yuuri’s push and dragged him back further out of the reach of the preoccupied competitors out in the lounge, pressing into him and snatching him up into a desperate kiss.  “I can’t stay long, Yuuri. I love you, and I can’t stay, I’m so sorry.”

His voice quavered in a way that Yuuri hadn’t heard since Hasetsu, his eyes wild and sharp, even as they kissed.

Viktor was scared.

“You’re scaring m—”

Viktor kissed him again, prodding with his tongue until Yuuri relented and parted his lips, fumbling over his husband’s frame with shaking hands in a futile attempt to soothe him.

“Vitya, tell me what’s wrong,” Yuuri pressed, bracing Viktor’s shoulders and staring up into blue eyes brimmed with tears.

Viktor looked like he was about to break, to crumple right there in front of him into a useless heap.  He mouthed uselessly as words failed him before pulling Yuuri close into him again. 

Yuuri could not help but to console him.  He sank to the floor, Viktor in his arms, and hummed the melody of  _ Stammi vicino _ into his ear as he stroked his fingers along the ridge of Viktor’s spine.

“I can’t stay,” the older man repeated, as if it were a mantra.  “I’m so sorry, Yuuri, I can’t stay.”

They stayed there for only a few minutes, until the sound of footsteps made them both freeze, eyes wide as they held their breath and listened.

“Go,” Yuuri breathed, pushing half-heartedly against Viktor’s chest.  “Go, you’ll be caught!”

“I don’t know where to go,” Viktor cried.

“Anywhere, Hasetsu, go!”

The footsteps grew louder, until Yuuri could hear the harried breath that accompanied them.

“Vitya, run down the hall, anything!  You have to leave!”

Viktor shook his head, thumbing away the tears from under his eyes, and took a deep breath.

The figure in the doorway was short but athletic, and by all accounts Otabek should not have been in Moscow for this event, but his yellow eyes flashed in the half-light as they caught Viktor’s.

And before Yuuri knew what had happened, they were both gone.  No sooner had Viktor disappeared from his arms than Otabek had followed suit; Yuuri wondered if the young rogue had any idea where he was going.

And then, with a pang of sickening realization, Yuuri remembered the only time he’d seen both of them in one place, Otabek’s eyes hungry with vengeance, Viktor’s breath shallow and diminishing as he held onto his last moments.

 

Suddenly, a gold medal felt worthless and cheap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming to an end - the tags say three chapters left but it's really only 2 chapters and an epilogue... get ready! Next chapter will be up Tuesday, November 13th.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reads and gives feedback - kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	6. Cup of China (Y6V2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva! Con man furtiva quante miserie conobbi aiutai. Sempre con fe' sincera la mia preghiera ai santi tabernacoli salì. Sempre con fe' sincera diedi fiori agl'altar. Nell'ora del dolore perché, perché, Signore, perché me ne rimuneri così? Diedi gioielli della Madonna al manto, e diedi il canto agli astri, al ciel, che ne ridean più belli. Nell'ora del dolor perché, perché, Signor, ah, perché me ne rimuneri così?"_
> 
>  
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> 
> - _Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore_ by Giacomo Puccini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You stayed! Haha ok it's a long time coming but here we are, we made it to chapter 6, and I'm going to go sleep forever now.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through fall holidays and a homework frenzy, and a special thanks to [izzyisozaki](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/) for being an amazing beta!
> 
> I swear you will not have to wait two whole weeks for the rest of this series. mainly because I have to have it up by Monday ;'D

Shocked and scared, Yuuri was barely able to pull himself together as he wandered numbly back into the arena proper to get ready for his free skate.  He was convinced Otabek had heard his suggestion that Vitya flee to Hasetsu, and worse, that Viktor had taken his advice.

Yuuri knew what that day looked like for both of them.

He dressed in stunned silence, forgoing even his headphones as he went through the motions of preparing to skate.  He was finishing lacing up his second skate when a harried Celestino rushed into the athletes’ lounge and begged him to get his ass out there.

It occurred to Yuuri then that Yurio’s music was playing.  From the sound of it, he was almost halfway done.

“You’ve been more confident this season, but you’ve also been more quiet,” Celestino said, grasping aloud at some way to approach his skater who sat, pale and shaking before him.  “Is this an issue you’d like me to help with?”

“No, sir.”

Celestino nodded gravely.  

“Yuuri,” his coach cautioned, “you don’t need to go out there if it’s too much.”

“I’m going to skate!” Yuuri protested, springing to his feet.  He hoped the unsteadiness he felt didn’t show too badly. From the way Celestino continued his protests, even as the two walked out toward the rink, Yuuri figured it did.

“Yuuri—”“ the Italian coach began as they neared the boards, but Yuuri did not hear what he had to say.  Yuuri could feel the end nearing, feel it in the way people had been saying his name with a moment's apprehension, as if uttering a curse.  He could feel it in the sympathy that glazed the eyes of those around him and the hushed tones that followed him wherever he went.

He whirled around on the spot, trapping Celestino in a tight hug that pulled an audible gasp from the old man, and held on until he felt the embrace returned.

“Thank you for coaching me,” he whispered into the folds of Celestino’s coat, abandoning shame for just a moment to hide his tear-stained face from the stadium.  “Thank you for everything.”

 

Yuuri was going to die in China.  Why else would Viktor—his Vitya, who came into his life already loving him—be so concerned with that day?  Why would Celestino and Yurio and everyone avoid the topic of the Cup of China around him? The answer was simple.  In Beijing, Yuuri would meet Viktor—or rather, Viktor would meet Yuuri—and then, in some event, some oversight that months of sleepless nights’ worth of analyzing couldn’t illuminate in his mind, Yuuri would die, leaving Viktor alone and scared.  Just the same as Viktor had done to him.

_ Stammi vicino _ had been more than a program from the first time Yuuri had seen it, breathless and desperately reaching for…  _ him _ .  Viktor had been reaching out for the Yuuri that he knew to  _ stay _ , even when they both knew he couldn’t.  The emotions in that first performance had trailed behind Viktor as he skated, diaphanous and shimmering, and Yuuri had felt each in turn in his own chest, as raw and vivid as if he’d felt them himself.

Only now did he know why.

Yuuri knew he looked a mess on the ice; his half-hearted attempt at cleaning up his tear-streaked makeup was not nearly sufficient, and no amount of deep breathing could still the trembling in his limbs.  He was faintly aware, beyond the scrape of his skates and the opening notes of the piece, that the crowd’s cheering had faded into hushed whispers around him. It was nice, actually. That, mixed with the glaring spotlights, seemed to isolate him in on the ice, gave the impression of everything around him falling away, leaving only Yuuri, and the music, and the ache in his chest.

He skated.

Instead of fighting that ache, or suppressing it, Yuuri let himself feel, the way he was sure Viktor had to let himself feel in those tender moments at Hasetsu Ice Castle.  When Viktor disappeared from his arms Yuuri felt himself break open, jagged and crumbling, and the only thing to do was to let everything he’d been holding in spill out. It was by no means delicate, but pouring out the visceral and most private parts of oneself was seldom delicate (except, of course, when that one was Viktor, ethereal and pristine in every move he made).  Yuuri felt his movements manifest in volatile and tumultuous shapes, shapes that felt like the shaking of the earth beneath his feet, but he pressed on. He had no sense of how well he was doing, only that this needed to be done, not only for the competition but for himself. The only fuel he had at this point was his emotion. Beyond that, there was nothing left.

Yuuri clung to Celestino’s side for the rest of the evening, even after they’d left the kiss-and-cry.  He managed fourth place, a rank that would have shattered him in the past, but it didn’t quite matter now.  

All that was left was Beijing.

 

By the time the Cup of China rolled around, Yuuri had shed the constricting layers of panic that had been eating away at him all season.  He had a mission, and he had a plan.

Yuuri was going to tell his story to the world, on the ice, one final time.

The lineup of skaters was impressive—all faces he recognized from the GPF.  Chris and Phichit were there, thank God, as well as fellow Roamers Guang Hong Ji and Leo de la Iglesia, both of whom Yuuri had skated with in the United States.  And…

Vitya.

The sight of him put together and preening at the attention from the press, not sullen or panicked as he had been recently, made Yuuri’s breath catch in his throat.  He was struck, for a moment, by just how  _ beautiful _ Viktor was in his element, striding stolidly behind Yakov as lights flashed in his direction.  Yuuri had never gotten the opportunity to see him out like this, accepting of the public eye, unaffected by any underlying worry.  Sure, the smile that shone as brightly as any of the flashbulbs strobing around him was fake, an impression of happy stretched tightly over something not -so underneath.  Then again, Yuuri had never quite enjoyed the press’s attention himself.

He considered calling Viktor over, rescuing him from the barrage of questions and dragging him someplace where they could be alone until official practice time.  However, as the two Russian men waded further and further away through the crowd, Yuuri realized he was fighting against his own apprehension. There was something about the way Yakov’s sharp eyes scanned the arena as they moved.  Or possibly it was the weight of the significance of this weekend’s competition.

Yuuri wasn’t ready to see the lack of recognition in Viktor’s eyes.  Not yet. 

And so he did what he was best at, at this sort of thing.  Yuuri hid in the periphery of the sports complex, finding quiet places to meditate on his music and stretch.  He knew that at the very least, he’d have to say hello to Viktor during the Roamers’ practice slot. Until then, he could steel himself for the things to come.

But when the time came, and Yuuri made his way to the ice to change into his skates, Viktor and Yakov were nowhere to be found.  Just Leo and Guang Hong, and their coaches. Yuuri wasn’t sure what to make of it, although he was certain the surprises would keep on coming.

They always did, with Viktor.

The first day passed without incident; after practice Yuuri tagged along with the other two Roamers to meet up with Phichit for dinner.  Phichit held everyone’s attention captive as they waited for their hot pot orders, scrolling through pictures of his hamsters and gushing about each one.

Yuuri had seen all the pictures on Instagram before—in fact, all three of the Roamers had.  But it was nice to be around Phichit’s sunny energy, and Yuuri found himself laughing and joking along with friends for once instead of skulking around his hotel room, waiting for tomorrow to come.

Tomorrow did come, eventually, without the usual buzz of nerves that Yuuri felt before a short program.  Celestino eyed him warily as they sat down for breakfast in the hotel.

“You seem calm,” the coach pointed out awkwardly, shaking the contents of five sugar packets into his double espresso.  His attention shifted to the pile of pastries and bacon and scrambled eggs and fruit on his skater’s plate. “And you’re eating.”  

Yuuri nodded, mouth full of hash brown.  “I guess I am,” he agreed. “Carb up, or whatever.”

Celestino’s booming laughter made a couple of the other early risers jump around them.  Yuuri could hear the relief in his tone, but with a little twinge of guilt he kept his eyes down on his plate.  Maybe he hadn’t trusted his own coach enough. Maybe Celestino had deserved, all along, to be in the loop, instead of worrying and questioning and choosing not to question.  Dad had advised from the very start of all of this that Yuuri ought to make full use of his coach as a resource and advisor. Yuuri supposed he may have gotten a little too caught up in his own affairs to consider doing so.

He knew he never would have done it, not six months ago.  Turning to Celestino for advice would have meant admitting that he’d gone against his coaches orders, pointedly pursuing the man he’d been told to avoid.  

The man he’d be sharing the ice with in only a few hours.

“Let’s keep up this confident energy all weekend,” Celestino was saying through a pleasant chuckle.  “You placed in the series final already this year; this should be nothing.”

Yuuri wish either of them knew how wrong Celestino was.  He hummed a little confirmation all the same, and the conversation lulled into comfortable silence until Phichit found them, his own plate piled high with fruit and crepes.

 

The trio weren’t the last to arrive at the arena that morning, but they may as well have been.  The only skater not present when Yuuri and Phichit dragged their stuff to the locker room to get ready was Viktor.  Everyone else was already organizing their belongings into little stations. As Yuuri began to lay out his costume components, he overheard Christophe telling Leo that Viktor was held up by the press once again.

“So strenuous, the life of a celebrity,” the Swiss man said with a feigned sigh before delving into some recount of his exploits with Viktor out on the town the previous night.

It wasn’t bad.  It wasn’t even embarrassing; Chris had been the one who’d gotten too drunk.  Viktor, not exactly sober himself, had had to navigate his way back to the hotel on his own, all while dragging Chris along behind him.  All the same, the story made Yuuri feel a pang of jealousy. He dug his headphones out of his bag and put them in, tuning out his fellow competitors as he finished hanging up his clothes, then he snatched up his warm-up mat and made for the door.  Immediately, his face made contact with something large and solid, knocking him backward and sending his glasses tumbling to the floor.

“Oh, sorry, I—” began a familiar voice.  The person Yuuri had just collided with ducked down for a moment, before straightening and pressing the plastic frames into his hand.  Yuuri didn’t even have to put them on to see the piercing blue eyes blown wide with surprise. As the world around him shifted back into focus, he could make out a faint blush blooming across Viktor’s nose and cheeks.  The older man was wearing the hell out of his Olympic team jacket, the fabric stretched across his broad chest right at Yuuri’s eye level. If he were a bolder man, or perhaps a dumber one, Yuuri would have already collapsed into that sturdy chest and breathed in the comforting familiarity of Viktor’s scent.  But they were in front of everyone, and Yuuri didn’t know the parameters of out-in-public yet. 

Hell, it wasn’t until not, when their collision had elicited a spark of recognition in Viktor’s eyes, that it was even clear the Russian recognized him at all.

Yuuri was about to open his mouth to say… well,  _ something _ , he’d have to s _ ay somethi _ ng, but before he had even figured out what that would be, Viktor had slipped around him into the room and ducked into a bathroom stall, out of sight and out of reach.  Unsure what to do next, but certain that “linger in the doorway until Viktor comes out” was not it, Yuuri hurried away to start stretching, tears stinging his eyes.

The rest of the day continued in quite the same manner.  Viktor and Yuuri tiptoed around one another, both awkwardly balancing their respective interest in watching the other with their need to keep their distance.  Viktor mumbled his congratulations along with the other skaters as Yuuri returned from a perfect short program; Yuuri did the same after Viktor stole the audience’s hearts with his program based on A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  They both joined in on the exasperated jokes their fellow competitors made about Christophe’s steamy performance, but neither really said anything directly to the other.

At the end of the day, Yuuri and Viktor were neck and neck, with Yuuri leading by only a few points.  Everyone was buzzing with their own speculation about who would take gold and whether Viktor could protect his world record for Free Skate and combined score.  Yuuri searched the arena, the lounge, and the locker room for Viktor to congratulate him after the final scores were announced, but he was nowhere to be found. Chris and Phichit tried to drag Yuuri out for a celebratory drink, or even in for a celebratory movie night, but Yuuri couldn’t imagine doing anything but retreating to his room and crying himself to sleep.

 

Except he didn’t sleep.  He tried; he even took a page out of Viktor’s book and put on the little sleep mask he’d saved from the plane trip.  He took a sleep aid at Celestino’s suggestion, although nothing strong enough to leave him groggy in the morning, and even made himself a cup of valerian and peppermint tea.  Nevertheless, every time Yuuri checked the clock it was another hour later, and in between he dove deeper into a spiral of fear and dread.

He had been so unconcerned, in the days leading up to this one, about his husband and their final days together.  He’d assumed that they had more time—that, at the very least, he’d be able to exchange more than a few words with Viktor before they had to face whatever was waiting for them this weekend.  Yuuri had assumed this time would be like any other, thrilling rendezvous in secret, savoring each moment they were lucky enough to share together and blissfully ignoring the circumstances that had brought them together in the first place.

Now, Yuuri hurtled toward “too late” territory at alarming speed, and as he lay in bed watching the sun rise, the rapid rhythm of his heart clanging against his rib cage matched the severity of his situation.  It had been easy to stay calm when The Event was a day away. It had been separated by the promise of one more night’s sleep—a promise Yuuri had managed to squander despite his best efforts. Christ, he was going to die here, today, and still all he wanted was to kiss his Vitya one last time.

Yuuri prepared for his final skate as a dead man re-animated.  He joylessly shoveled his breakfast into his face, ignoring the return of Celestino’s quiet concern.  He silently listened to Phichit’s Ten Theories on Instagram Celebrity as they walked to the sports complex, nodding in classic bobble-head fashion to demonstrate his continued attention.

After flubbing a jump and making a spectacular fool of himself during the official warm-up, Yuuri was frustrated enough to consider throwing in the towel before the competition had even begun.  He was weighing the possibility of just running, retreating back to Hasetsu and the quiet comfort of seclusion that awaited him there, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

He turned to find Viktor, looking just as exhausted and anxious as he felt.

“You didn’t sleep either, huh?”  The older man asked, flashing the first genuine smile Yuuri had yet to see from him this weekend, albeit a strained and sympathetic one.

“I guess I got caught up in the excitement,” Yuuri admitted.  Viktor chuckled, and it wasn’t until he withdrew his hand that Yuuri had even noticed how his touch had lingered.  He was hungry for it the moment it went away. He watched, longingly, as Viktor carded slender fingers through strands of silver hair—a surefire sign something had him stressed.  

His right hand.  There was no ring.  Yuuri racked his brain, trying to determine if his partner had ever been quite this distant.  The earliest point in Viktor’s timeline he was certain of was their second meeting in Hasetsu.  They’d moved apprehensively and delicately around one another, but never like this. This time, Yuuri felt himself repressing impulses to touch, to hold… this time, the little silent ways they comforted one another just didn’t seem appropriate.  It was as if they were just the same as all the others—merely competitors.

“We’ve got some time; we should both try to get a little bit of rest,” Viktor said, indicating to the lounge area behind him.  “If we hurry, we could probably squeeze in a little nap!”

Yuuri considered it.  In fact, he entertained it.  He wanted nothing more, right now, to go back into a quiet corner of the complex and curl up against Vitya, basking in his warmth as they drifted together into sleep.

Except he wasn’t  _ Vitya _ yet.  Nothing about the way he was acting struck Yuuri as remotely intimate or romantic.  Just friendly. The last time Yuuri had felt “just friendly” about Viktor, they’d fallen asleep together on the floor of Yu-Topia, and they’d woken to catastrophe.  Exactly what would happen this time around. No, Yuuri was not going to let Vitya get close enough to break when the inevitable tore them apart. If this was their first meeting from Viktor’s perspective, it would not end in heartbreak.  Yuuri mumbled a hurried apology and scurried off to find Celestino.

For a day that he had heard referenced in solemn tones and urgent whispers, nothing really felt out-of-place as Yuuri awaited his turn on the ice.  He scanned the venue as the others performed, looking for any hint, any giveaway regarding what he could expect. The day simply continued as if it were any other.

Except, of course, for Yuuri’s free skate program.  Autobiographical, reflective, and final. Everything he wanted to say to his fans, to his family, to Vitya, and everyone who had shown him their love and support over the course of his career—all of it would be laid bare on the ice for the world to see.  Whatever happened, it was vital to Yuuri to send this one, last message. If he could channel his focus and his energy into this one, last act, he could keep his mind on what mystery came after.

He breathed, letting the tension flow from his shoulders as Phichit performed what would become his signature free skate,  _ Terra Incognita _ .  If only he knew, as Yuuri did, how far he’d go, how in a few short years he’d rise to the top of the ranks.  When they’d first met, Phichit held the world record for free skate and combined score. Now, he was so young and full of opportunity.  Yuuri was so lucky to have seen what he would become.

Viktor was next, and as he took the ice to skate [Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnqa94oeGfw) , Yuuri felt the adrenaline start to take its effect, gradually evolving from a tremble in his fingertips to a bright-hot burning in his chest.  Vitya moved like brush strokes across an artist’s canvas. He moved from the heart, as if every sweep, every spin began there, and his limbs followed.  The story he skated was one of grief, and reluctance, and regret, and how Vitya could make tears look so beautiful, Yuuri would never know.

Before he knew it, he was standing on the ice, and the commentator was announcing the title of his piece— _ Yuri on Ice _ .  It was the best he could think of to describe how all of these people and forces around him, those who loved him, had shaped his journey as a skater and as a man.  As the opening notes on the piano sounded, a bright and hopeful ostinato that drove his first movements, Yuuri found himself smiling. He actually felt a lot better.  He’d seen his friends, his husband, and himself bring their best to this competition. He got to witness the reason he ever skated in the first place. Phichit demonstrated the potential and room to grow that Yuuri knew was in every skater, deep down.  And no one told tell a story so succinctly on the ice like Vitya.

Well, Yuuri hoped that at least this one time, he could too.

A heady weightlessness hit him as he went into his first combo, just as the music paused, as if the world fell away and he might continue soaring upward into the rafters.  It was his favorite moment in practice, by far, and that held true now. He let the music guide him as he explored the highs and lows of his life on the ice: falling in love—first with the sport, then Vitya, and finally, with himself.  His many losses—his dog, his passion, Viktor, his security. The struggle of loneliness—the isolation he’d learned to accept as a result of who he was, and how, over time, he found that he didn’t have to be lonely when there were others who shared his circumstances.

And then the end.  Yuuri didn’t know how his story would end, but he knew the message he wanted to broadcast before it did.  Peace—stillness, and then a rush of emotions, the overwhelming and life-changing force that was love, making changes in his life that he never knew were possible.  Viktor brought him adventure and passion and intimacy in a time in his life where he’d felt resigned to none of the above. 

He touched down on his triple axel, but that wasn’t his focus this time.  At the climax, as he came out of the step sequence, he launched into a quad flip—a blatant tribute to the man who inspired it all.

He barely even registered the rest of the program after that.  Once he landed, he let himself coast through the final steps until, at last, he settled into his final pose, one arm outstretched toward the kiss-and-cry, right where he knew Viktor would be watching. 

And Viktor had been watching.  Yuuri had made a point to wear his contacts today, to see his reaction.  

At first, Yuuri thought Viktor looked angry; his shoulders were tense, and as he stood from the bench, his body shook.  But then, Viktor rushed to the gate, as fast as his skate guards would allow, and Yuuri could see the tears streaming behind him as he ran.

“Viktor!” he called, pushing off to skate towards him.  “What did you think?”

 

Whatever response he was expecting, it was not this.  No, of all the ways this day could have ended, all the scenarios he’d obsessed over in his head, somehow Yuuri hadn’t accounted for this one.

Viktor stood in the entrance, picturesque in dance pants and a billowing, purple silk shirt.  His hands were shaking harder than they had that night at the Rostelecom Cup, and Yuuri knew this because in his hands, shining under the performance lights, was a gun.  A gun pointed at Yuuri.

“Oh, Viktor, no…”

“Please don’t try to stop me,” Viktor warned, though the fear in his eyes and the pink streaks left behind from his tears betrayed his conviction.  “This is a fixed point in time, so just… so don’t…”

“Why…?” Yuuri was vaguely aware of the din erupting all around them; Yakov’s choleric shouting blended with the screams of the audience.  All around him, people were scrambling to get off the ice, out of the stadium, up the stairs. Viktor winced against the reaction. All at once, it occurred to Yuuri that no one was rushing  _ toward _ them.  No one was trying to stop Viktor.  He remembered that the ISU relied on Yakov for security.  He couldn’t just wait and hope… he had to… but  _ Vitya _ …

“Radicals… they want action on civil rights,” Viktor cried. “The Baranovsky faction has been planning a public assassination to fast track the discussion; it’s  _ you _ , Yuuri, you’re the most notable Roamer in figure skating!”  As he spoke, it became clear that the eruption occurring around them was starting to feel much bigger than the stampede of the retreating audience.  A crack began to creep along the ice as the ground shook beneath them.

Yuuri’s pulse pounded in his ears as he tried to settle his breathing.  He did not have time to focus on his heart shattering into a million pieces inside his chest.  Suddenly, the sympathetic looks, the claims he was a coward, everything made sense. He wanted to scream, wanted to rush Viktor and knock him to the ground, anything to get across the betrayal that tore through him.  He was right, in his vows; Viktor had ruined everything. Viktor had come into his life, made him love him, taken him on a whirlwind of a journey, knowing that they would end up here in this position. 

“Just get it over with,” Yuuri breathed, venturing to skate closer.  Viktor bristled at his approach, bracing his aim once more. “Don’t… don’t worry about me, just do it.”

“I can’t!” Viktor cried, setting his shoulders.  He was poised to shoot now; any second it could be over.  “I have been training for this my whole life, but… I didn’t know it would be  _ you!  _  God… I remember seeing you skate after Sochi, Yuuri, you showed me  _ life! _ ”  A sob ripped from his chest just as an otherworldly wind picked up, tearing through the arena.  Yuuri was struggling to stay afoot now; the ground, the very  _ world _ was shaking around them.

“Viktor, you have to do this; there’s no time.” 

“I can’t!  Not after you danced with me like that!”

Yuuri could hardly stand now, and Viktor was struggling to stay upright himself.  Yuuri knew that their minute must have been nearly up; if it changed over and he wasn’t dead, the results could be disastrous.  He’d never experienced a paradox—no one had, but the stories of what could happen were grim. All of time, occurring at the same moment—or, rather, the same moment occurring for all of time, until, little by little, the fabric of time and space unraveled into unimaginable chaos.

He hadn’t imagined he’d be standing here begging for his own end, but at home, Mom, Dad, and Mari were finishing up the dinner rush.  The Nishigoris were trying to get the triplets into the bath. Somewhere in Moscow, Yurio was walking Makkachin. Just beyond these walls, Phichit, Chris, Celestino… all of them deserved to live.  Yuuri could stop this, if only Viktor would…

“Shoot!  Please, Vitya!”

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, squared his shoulders, and took aim.

“I am so, so sorry!”  he called, barely audible over the roar.  Yuuri braced himself, waited, and as the deafening blast rang out, he held his breath, flinching against the pain… but nothing came.  He opened his eyes to see Viktor, an arm outstretched above his head, a smoking gun pointing towards the heavens. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri, I can’t, I can’t!”

The world fell away.

 

In the blink of an eye, everything was gone, and it was the two of them; they looked on as the ice, the stands, the roads outside, everything crumbled and descended into an unfathomable darkness below.  Although there was nothing underneath them now, the tremors and quaking still shook them precariously, as if the very air were breaking apart around them. Yuuri felt himself losing grip; any moment he would plunge into an unknowable eternity below him; directly in front of him, however, Viktor was frozen in shock, a grimace of incomprehensible horror as he watched everything he knew dissolve into never-having-been.  Yuuri reached for him, but arms outstretched, he realized the distance between them was growing ever greater with each passing second, and before he could think, he pushed off of his last piece of stability and launched himself at Viktor; it felt like forever, and Yuuri watched universes soar past as he hurtled toward his last hope.

He had no clue if they would ever make contact, or what would happen if they did, but he would not let go of Viktor if this was his eternity.

His hand found the fabric of Viktor’s shirt after what felt like weeks, and before he could even think about what to do next, Yuuri pulled the other man toward him and into a kiss—one that would either be final or eternal, he didn’t know. 

 

The crowd cheered.

“What?” Viktor said, his lips still pressed haphazardly into Yuuri’s chin.  With a thud, Yuuri fell backward, and Viktor on top of him, the ice burning his skin where it made contact.

“What?” Yuuri echoed, but for a moment, all he saw was Vitya, over him and surrounding him, his azure eyes sparkling and wild with confusion.

They were back in the arena, the fans who hadn’t made it out the doors looking down on them from the stands above; the ice was intact, the air, everything around them was… back to normal.

“Did you just…” Viktor began, wide-eyed, his face a pink, splotchy mess of tears and snot.  Yuuri assumed he meant, “Did you just re-write a fixed point in time with a kiss?” in which case, his answer was,

“I don’t know!”

For a moment, they just stared at one another, chests heaving, before Viktor collapsed on top of him, his soft lips breaking into an exasperated smile against Yuuri’s neck.

“I am so, so sorry,” he whispered, clutching at Yuuri’s shoulders.  “But I am so glad I didn’t lose you.”

A shout from across the ice made them start, and when they sat up, Yuuri saw the flash of badges against black uniforms as a unit of men rushed their way.  

“Viktor you have to go, jump; go to Hasetsu.”

Viktor turned to him in a panic.  “I told you, I’m Typical, I can’t… I don’t…”

Yuuri shook his head.  “I don’t care, in my experience you know how.  Viktor, you just experienced all of space and time; don’t you think if you were to start now would be the time?”

Viktor shook his head, trying to take it all in.  “I suppose,” he said, “I don’t know how, but…”

Yuuri smiled.  “Don’t think about it, just do it, quick!”

“Where will I go?”

“Meet me in six months?”

And with that, Viktor was gone, moments before security made its way onto the ice.

 

And with that, Viktor was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - the worst is over!! Kudos and comments are welcomed and appreciated!


	7. Sochi GPF (Y7V1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Y7V1) It finally happened. My worst fear, worse than anything that Beijing could have brought. Whatever happens at this banquet, this is it. This is the last time I'll ever see Viktor Nikiforov._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just don't want the Victuri Big Bang to end!!! I've been dragging this story on long enough, it's time to bring everything to a close, and I am so grateful that you have stuck with me to see it through. 
> 
> Special thanks to [izzyisozaki](https://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com) for being an amazing beta and unstoppable cheerleader. Like, seriously. A ray of sunshine through the worst of my writer's block. <3
> 
> Also, a big shoutout to [comeonandrockmyfandom](https://comeonandrockmyfandom.tumblr.com) for the awesome art in chapters 2 and 4 and to [The Victuri Big Bang](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com) for an awesome event. It was my first bang and it could not have been more fun.

The end came far too soon for Yuuri, who stood agape after a less-than-favorable score in Sochi, staring down at the only person in the entire city whose congratulations—or consolation—he was interested in.  To say he’d done badly in this competition was an understatement; Yuuri was practically back to his depression-era score average once he factored in today’s failure.

And now, unable to focus on the questions and encouragement being barked his way by a visibly-jet lagged Morooka, Yuuri was forced to address the only true concern he’d carried with him after the cataclysm at Beijing.

Across the lobby, dashing and perfect with his press-ready smile firmly set in place, was a Viktor more fearsome than the one who’d aimed a gun in his direction all those months ago.  More worrisome than harrowed, desperate Viktor dragging Yuuri into a dark corner to steal one last kiss goodbye, with Otabek in hot pursuit.

This Viktor Nikiforov had never met Katsuki Yuuri.

And here he’d hoped falling together for eternity would have bought them just a little more time.

 

After Viktor’s disappearance from the Cup of China, an occurrence in itself that had sent the world into a frenzy, the world itself seemed to turn upside-down, and Yuuri found himself in the midst of a fury of uproar.  Of course, there were cases of adverse situations awakening Roamer abilities in people thought to be typical, but never before had such an anomaly occurred in such a public way. And the circumstances surrounding Viktor’s emergent powers were… well, _messy,_ to say the least.

Yuuri was pulled into a weeks-long investigation after the event—a process that seemed to contain its own eternity—in which his insistence that Yakov and the Baranovsky family had been behind the attack was met with ambivalence.  He wasn’t sure which answer he disliked more—the dismissive, “We assure you it’s being looked into,” or the blatant defense of Yakov’s position as a respected member of both the Roamer and figure skating communities. He heard enough of both to understand that the Agency wasn’t so much concerned with the _truth_ as they were with swift justice.  A lone actor, famous or not, was much easier to tackle than an agent of a larger organization.

Yuuri told Celestino everything, from the appearance of the mysterious stranger at his family’s onsen one year before, to the spontaneous elopement in Barcelona, to Otabek’s unrelenting pursuit.  His coach was heartbroken, to say the least, to know that his student felt he needed to suffer in silence as an event he couldn’t control crept ever nearer. Celestino’s rage that an associate whom he’d trusted his entire career could do this and get away with it was, if nothing else, a relief to Yuuri.   _Someone_ believed him, _someone_ other than him knew the truth.  And he knew Celestino well enough to understand that he would continue to fight the Agency for some form of justice.

 

“Commemorative photo?” Viktor asked, his face drawn into the same pleasant smile Yuuri had seen him flash for the cameras all week.  The expression was cold and detached, like a smiling mask that was meant to conceal whatever was hidden behind it. For all the twists and turns the past year had brought, Yuuri still found himself taken by surprise.  Viktor hadn’t acted particularly familiar in Beijing, but Yuuri never got the feeling that they hadn’t met; after all, he’d cited Sochi as the reason he couldn’t carry out his duty that day, hadn’t he? At what was supposed to be the end of Yuuri’s life, Viktor claimed Yuuri’s skating had showed him life, showed him _love_.  So why were they here, now, strangers among strangers?

Yuuri felt the heat rise in his face.  He must have looked so stupid, standing there gaping at… who he knew now was, on paper, the highest-ranked skater currently competing on the international level, unsure of what to say.  Viktor wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov, five-time gold medalist, to Yuuri. He wasn’t the holder of several world records, or a household name, or anything. To Yuuri, Viktor was Vitya— _his_ Vitya—his husband and the man who had shown him a life unlike any he could have dreamed for himself.

How was he supposed to look into those icy eyes, devoid of recognition, when he’d seen them burning and blown-wide with passion?

A chill crept up Yuuri’s spine, but all the while he felt his skin burn.  He didn’t know what to do. Once upon a time, he was so dilligent about keeping a safe distance, not letting himself get involved.  The good, the dreamlike thrill of having found love and friendship and excitement all bundled up into one, beautiful man had passed before Yuuri could stop to appreciate it, and one world-shattering nightmare later, he stood face to face with the final chapter of his and Viktor’s story… and he didn’t want to leave.  Saying anything was the beginning of the end for him. For how could he even try to love again after this? After _him?_  

No one could hold a candle to what Viktor had shown Yuuri.  And, knowing the outcome would be the same no matter what, Yuuri decided that if this was the end, he wanted no part of it.  He turned on his heel and walked away. He felt the eyes of an entire lobby of people boring into his back as he did the unthinkable, walking away from _Viktor Nikiforov_ without so much as a word, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn and have to deal with the implications of _that_ right now.

It was only by keeping pace and biting a hole into his cheek that Yuuri managed to make it out into the snowy night before the tears came, stinging his eyes and freezing in painful streaks down his face. He was thankful for the cold, actually, as trudging through the bitter wind was something to focus on other than the literal aching in his chest, the gut-wrenching sadness that had crashed over him all at once with the utterance of those two words.  At least this way he could put off the inevitable emotional fallout until he was back in his hotel room.

Why had it been easier to cope when he thought he wouldn’t live to see another sunrise?  Why did this feel so much worse?

Yuuri texted Celestino when he got back to the room to let his coach know he’d returned safely, then turned the shower up to its highest setting and sat on the cold tile floor, letting the steaming hot water bite at his back and shoulders until he could no longer feel its sting.  He watched the droplets cascade off his bangs and shatter against the ceramic until the rhythm and the motion abstracted into white noise. It wasn’t until the water ran cold that he turned off the water and shuffled back into the room in search of warm clothes, only to find Celestino had returned and was waiting for him.

It was only by pleading with Yuuri and promising that he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone that Celestino convinced him to go down to the banquet, “for just an hour.”  

“If anything,” the exasperated coach offered, clearly grasping at straws trying to find a good enough reason for Yuuri to have to show his face in front of everyone he’d let down, Yakov, and Viktor, “it’ll be a free meal.  Free drinks, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’ll be a free meal,” Yakov grunted, his foot wedged firmly in the door of Viktor’s single-king suite.  “And I refuse to explain to your sponsors why you are not there to greet them again, Vitya. You’re going.”

Without waiting for a reply, the old man removed his foot from the door Viktor had been trying fruitlessly to close on him, and he fell forward with a jolt as it slammed shut.  

Viktor swore aloud, the curse hanging stagnant in the empty hotel room, before digging through the closet to find the iron.  Seeing as he had planned on missing out on this year’s banquet in favor of room service and whatever movies he could find on TV, he hadn’t pressed his dress clothes yet.  

In a stillness he’d come to dub his “post-win meditation,” Viktor set up the ironing board and went through the 7 routine steps of ironing his shirt; collar front, collar back, sleeve, sleeve, front, front, back back.  Make sure to get in between the buttons. Use the point to sharpen the darts in the back and the sleeves. He wished he had a sleeve board to really get the job done well, but if all went as planned tonight, he’d be back in his room before he even got hot enough to take off his jacket.  He’d rub elbows with a few important people, secure one or two new sponsorships if he was lucky, and be back in time to get a full night’s sleep.

That was the plan.  But things never really went according to plan, did they?  Because an hour later, down in the hotel ballroom, Viktor was politely trying to extricate himself from a conversation with a very rosy-faced ISU official whose grip on his wrist was threatening the circulation to his fingertips when a crash had heads turning in the direction of the drinks table.  It was the perfect opportunity for Viktor to politely excuse himself and move toward the commotion. Maybe after this, he’d slip away and retire for the night. Maybe he’d sneak a few glasses of champagne up with him.

Those were both perfectly viable possibilities for how this evening could have gone, except that a very tipsy, very _handsome_ man was toweling off his wine-soaked shirt, peering up through a tangle of black hair as he apologized profusely to an annoyed-looking caterer.

He recognized the velvety chocolate-brown of that wide-eyed stare, although he couldn’t really make out where he knew it from.  

“Isn’t he gorgeous? I haven’t seen him before this competition.”  Chris’ deep purr resonated in Viktor’s chest as the Swiss skater sidled up beside him.  “Must be one of the Roamers.”

“Is he a junior?” Viktor asked, keeping his voice low, and not nearly ready to tear his eyes away from the Japanese man who had started undoing the buttons of his shirt, trying to wring out little sections of it at a time.  

“Niki, he’s drunk, of course he’s not a junior,” Chris muttered, pulling along with him as they moved closer.  “That’s Yuuri Katsuki; you just beat him to the podium. Or were you that distracted this week, that you didn’t notice?”

 _Yikes_.  Well, Viktor supposed Chris had a point.  Aside from him and JJ, who’d both shared the podium with him, Viktor really had to think to remember who he’d even competed against this time around.

“Guess I was just focused on my own program,” he conceded, getting a chuckle from Chris in return.  

“Well, _mon cher,_ you’ve got some time before Nationals.  Maybe you should give a little attention to something other than your work for a change. Have some fun.”  

Viktor didn’t even have time to protest before Chris whisked past him and was encroaching on the poor man’s personal space.  Viktor recognized his friend’s smoky demeanor anywhere. He was done with the business side of his evening and ready for some fun.  He didn’t know why, but Viktor felt a twinge of envy as Chris coaxed his apparent competitor toward the dance floor. He didn’t know why, but he found himself following them over, hovering just behind the first row of onlookers as the two started into a… well, _some_ sort of a dance.  It was two parts silly, five parts steamy, and it made the heat rise in Viktor’s cheeks to watch this guy move.  It was like music personified, and music looked really enticing. Shirt half-unbuttoned, tie loose and swinging with every twirl of his body, Katsuki’s dancing was inviting and carefree and way more than Viktor had seen from anybody out on the ice this week.

He wanted to know what made someone move like that.

The ball only devolved from there.  Katsuki drew attention from every angle, more than just Viktor’s, because it wasn’t long before all eyes were on him.  He didn’t seem to have eyes for anyone in particular though. Viktor couldn’t help but laugh at Chris’ disappointed pout as Yuuri cast him aside in favor of another surprising match; somehow he roped the bratty Plisetsky kid into a high-energy dance-off next, goading and poking fun at the disgusted teen until he agreed.

There was no arguing who the winner of that one was, though.

One of the boys out on the floor was good at moving to the music.  The other was music itself.

Viktor vaguely remembered that he had been trying to break away and get some sleep before the plane ride home the next morning.  He seriously considered leaving the others to their games; if he knew anything about these kinds of banquets, once the skaters really let loose things got out of hand fast.   _Really_ fast.  

It used to be him fueling the fire, instead of standing there watching it burn.  In years past, he would have been right out there on the floor, intercepting Chris for a chance at that first dance, and fighting for his place on the floor for as long as he could hold it.  It’d probably be him with his shirt off, like Katsuki had his now, and _Christ_ that body was unfair in so many ways.

But the pressure from Yakov has been borderline intolerable these past few weeks, with his first assignment so close in view now.  And for whatever reason, Yakov has seemed angrier than ever lately. He’d barely been able to focus on skating let alone his personal life.  He’d already been told in no uncertain terms that if he fucked the Beijing job up, there would be nowhere he could hide that Yakov’s men wouldn’t find him.  His career, his life—it would all be over.

All of these not-so-insignificant factors were churning away in his head, daring him to retreat, when Katsuki locked eyes with him from across the room.  

And then there was nothing in his head but those doe-brown eyes, and he knew he was about to make an entire evening’s worth of mistakes then.  He was ready to run through fire and get burned, if Katsuki was leading. And before he could reason with himself, Katsuki _was_ leading; Viktor had, without really realizing it, drifted out onto the dance floor and let Yuuri pull him in with an arm firmly around his waist.  He let himself be guided by this stranger who moved with such certainty, with such skill, and who held his gaze with an intense stare that had Viktor wondering if maybe, just maybe, this man already knew him.  

It was _fun,_ something he was sure he’d never said about even his most wild of banquets.  Debauched, sure. Wicked, yes. But when Viktor saw Yuuri’s face break into a toothy grin and realized that he, too, was smiling, realized that he had no idea when he’d started and had no intention of stopping, that was the moment that Viktor considered holding onto Yuuri and never letting go.

When Christophe, a man of refined tastes and few scruples, somehow managed to break out a set of poles in the middle of the banquet hall and Yuuri’s pants joined his shirt and jacket in their pile on the floor, Viktor considered leaving everything behind, risking Yakov’s wrath, and running far, far from here, anywhere, as long as Yuuri and his godlike thighs were there with him.

And still, through it all, Yuuri’s gaze kept drifting back to him, daring him to do it.

So just as Christophe was trying to teach Yuuri a new tandem move—and Viktor had tried pole dancing with Chris; he knew how much skill was required just to do simple solo moves—Viktor found his opportunity and jumped on it.  Armed with Yuuri’s jacket and a fresh glass of champagne, he walked over and nudged Yuuri’s side with his elbow.

“Things are getting a little crazy; what do you say we get out of here?” Viktor asked, trying to play it cool.  Yuuri was so very naked and he was so very clothed, and a reserved workaholic like Viktor had nothing compared to this man’s charms.

You’d have thought he’d offered up his gold medal and all his winnings, the way Yuuri beamed.  “Oh, god, yes,” he breathed, and Viktor wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn such a reaction, but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity for anything.

He shot a smirk back at Chris as Yuuri rushed to gather up the rest of his clothes, and as they left, Yuuri’s arm still fast around Viktor’s waist, Chris shouted after them to give him a call once they got bored.

Viktor had a hunch he’d _never_ get bored with Katsuki Yuuri, however, as the man pulled him into the elevator and pushed him against the wall, falling lightly against his chest with a satisfied sort of smile as Viktor fumbled with the glass of champagne, trying not to spill.

“I’m drunk, Vitya,” Yuuri said, and he _must have been,_ to be so forward, but Viktor was in no place to even try to fault him on it right now.  He was drunk enough himself. And besides, Yuuri’s cheek squished so adorably against his sternum that Viktor wasn’t about to say anything that might prompt him to move.

Here, in the soft light of the elevator, Viktor could lend all his focus to Yuuri and take him in.  With his clothes back on—a suit that hung off his curves in all the wrong places, and that offensive _tie,_ for heaven’s sake—he looked a lot younger than Viktor expected.  It was like he was trying to cover up his marvelous figure, downplay his own strengths.

And then there was that _ring._  Viktor had noticed it a few times throughout the night as they’d danced, but Yuuri wore a gold band on the ring finger of his right hand… that couldn’t be a Japanese thing, could it?  No, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. Maybe Yuuri’s ring was some sort of charm, or had another meaning than…

“That’s a beautiful gold ring,” Viktor blurted.  “Are you married?”

 _Well, shit._  Maybe he was drunker than he thought.  

“The man I married is dead,” Yuuri slurred, way too casually for Viktor to really process the gravity of what he was saying.  “But he saved me, Vitya, he saved my life.”

“I—” Viktor sputtered.  He wasn’t really prepared for things to get heavy like this.  “I’m so sorry.”

“No.”  Yuuri pressed a finger to his lips, a little too warm and a little too sweaty, but as he spoke he dragged it down, pulling Viktor’s bottom lip with it, and the taste of salt he left behind was not entirely unpleasant.  “Don’t you ever be sorry, Vitya. You have done so much for me. More than you’ll ever understand.”

Okay, Viktor was starting to get the impression that it was the champagne talking, now.  In any case, the elevator doors dinged open a moment later, and with a gentle nudge, Viktor guided Yuuri out the door and in the direction of his room.

“My clothes smell like wine,” Yuuri grumbled as Viktor dug in his pocket for his room key, thankful it wasn’t _he_ who had stripped off his pants and sent his belongings flying back in the ballroom.

“Ah, well you did a very good job of dumping wine on them,” Viktor teased, taking a step back to let Yuuri lead the way into the suite.  “You can borrow some of mine, if you’d like.”

“Mmm, I like your clothes,” Yuuri all but purred, and Viktor had to take a moment to remind himself that drunken flings have never done any good for anybody.  If Yuuri was someone he was seriously interested in, he at least owed him the courtesy of refraining from anything they might regret in the morning. But _damn,_ given the right circumstances… The ways he’d like to invite Yuuri into his space danced around in Viktor’s head as he dug through his suitcase for a pair of clean track pants and a tee shirt.  He missed when he tossed them in Yuuri’s direction, and they wound up smacking the Japanese man square in the face, sending them both into hysterical fits of laughter as the clothes tumbled to the floor.

“Can we sit? Talk?” Yuuri asked, wiping tears from his eyes.  Viktor nodded and moved toward the couch. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Yuuri changed right there in the middle of the room, but then again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been stripped down to his boxers in front of a whole room full of people just half an hour before.

Things were quieting down now, between them.  Viktor threw himself down, resting against the arm of the loveseat so that he was angled toward the chair, but instead of taking a seat of his own, Yuuri followed suit, curling up against Viktor’s side and resting his head, once again, on Viktor’s chest.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” Yuuri hummed.  “S’nice.”

“Mmm,” Viktor agreed.  It’d been a long time for him, too.  As in, _way_ too long.  As in, _not since five years ago when Yakov started plans on this assignment_ too long.

He didn’t even know who it was he was supposed to kill, when the time came.

He only knew the time and place, and that it _had_ to happen, at the risk of catastrophic consequences.

Viktor had Yakov’s assurance that when all was said and done, he’d have the protection of his fame and the Baranovsky faction on his side.  He had his doubts; it was too good to be true, to pull off a public assassination and walk away from it too, but what choice did he have? Yakov had raised him from a small child, alone and hungry, to _this,_ now, a skater of international renown and a world record holder many times over.

Maybe now was the time to start taking some risks.  Just in case.

“I want to know all about you, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, letting his eyes close.  The warmth of Yuuri’s frame pressed against his was lovely and intoxicating in a way that the catering company’s cheap champagne couldn’t touch.  “Will you tell me?”

Yuuri looked up at him, eyes wide once more, and Viktor realized now that he’d seen Yuuri out in the lobby of the rink earlier that day wearing the same, complicated expression on his face: one of excitement and hope and disappointment all at the same time.  And he’d walked out on Viktor without a word.

What made those beautiful, dark eyes glimmer like that?  As if every smile existed to conceal a hint of sadness?

All the same, Yuuri told him.  He told him about his family, and the mutation that isolated them from society.  He told Viktor about his hometown, a seaside village that embraced the Katsuki family and named itself a sanctuary city.  About the loneliness of competing against people like Viktor, who simply couldn’t understand what it was like to watch everything and everyone around them, eventually, sink back into the dust from which they came.

How every new friendship was a contingency, a bargain with time.

Yuuri talked about the business his family owned, a traditional bath house that sounded like something out of a fairytale, built around natural hot springs and generations old.  How his mother’s cooking is the thing he holds nearest and dearest to his heart, save for one other thing… something he couldn’t find the words to describe.

Yuuri told Viktor about Mari, so dry and sardonic but with nothing but love in her heart.  How she’d beat up more than a few boys on Yuuri’s behalf as a kid and taught him to never worry about what others thought.  About his dad, unconditionally supportive and encouraging, even when Yuuri was at his most unsure.

He told about his first love, which burned hot and bright, but only momentarily, like quicksilver, or a moth flying into a flame.  How he’d known so little but felt so much, and discovered his own life and love in the process.

“Why did you do it?” Viktor asked, unaware that he was gaping at Yuuri as he spoke, hanging on his every word.

“I thought he was a Roamer,” Yuuri stated plainly.  “At first, he was always there. Then he wasn’t.”

Viktor felt a lump forming in his throat, to hear what this man had been through.  Maybe it was the wine, or the glassy shine of Yuuri’s eyes in the lamplight. He didn’t know.  “How could you… If you weren’t even sure?”

“It was easy,” Yuuri replied, as matter-of-fact as if this was not the very shit of his soul he was bearing.  “For as long as I knew him, I was part of something beautiful.”

Viktor wasn’t sure he understood. Was that worth the pain of loss?  

He thought about saying this, but then Yuuri Katsuki, this beautiful stranger who’d danced his way into Viktor’s life, bolted upright in his lap.  He turned, and the sadness in his eyes was undeniable now, but charged with an urgency Viktor couldn’t fathom.

“Let me skate for you,” Yuuri said, practically _demanded_ , before hopping to his feet and tugging at Viktor’s arm to follow.  “Can you get into the practice rink here? Even though the competition is over?”

“I know somewhere we can go; Yuuri, what—” Viktor stammered, kicking on his shoes.

“Please, Vit—Viktor, we don’t have much time.”

Viktor wasn’t sure what this sudden change was in Yuuri’s demeanor.  Maybe he was starting to sober up. Maybe Viktor had let the conversation go too far, maybe he should have made more of an effort to keep things on the frivolous side, to steer the conversation away from such dark topics.  

Suddenly Yuuri was charged with determination, his expression set and serious as he grabbed his clothes. Viktor grabbed his coat and followed behind him out the door.

Yuuri’s room was only the floor below his, and the Japanese man ducked in just quickly enough to snatch up his own effects before he had Viktor by the arm once more and was dragging him down the hall to the elevators.

“I know this must seem a little strange,” Yuuri said as he jammed the down button.  He was practically buzzing with anticipation, hopping from one foot to the other as he waited.  “Please just trust me, and hopefully it will all start to make some sense.”

Viktor could only watch him as they made their way down and through the lobby into the night.  They moved through the cold in silence, save Viktor’s occasional directions toward the nearby rink.

Viktor let them in the back, flicking on the lights as he passed through the service hall towards the ice.

“Yakov will be pissed that I didn’t tell him, but I’ll grovel a little in the morning and it’ll be fine,” he said, throwing his bag down in the locker room and dropping to the bench.  “I’ll leave the managers a little tip too, for good measure. We’ve been partnered with them since before I started.”

He watched Yuuri lace up his skates in quiet wonder; something told him he was not ready for whatever this man was about to offer him on the ice.  But he wanted it, wanted everything Yuuri was willing to give him. He wanted to know what was bubbling right beneath the surface, what Yuuri could say without words the way he had back at the banquet.

As Yuuri finished tending to his boots, Viktor wandered over and switched on the PA, pulling the auxiliary cable out so that Yuuri could get to it from the boards.

When Yuuri was done, he stalked over to the entrance of the rink, right up to where Viktor was waiting for him.  He reached out a trembling hand and grabbed Viktor’s tie where it still hung around his neck, yanking him down to eye level.

“Please, Viktor, please don’t look away.  Only look at me,” he said, the passion really burning in his voice now.  

And then he pushed off toward the center of the ice, taking his place and nodding at Viktor to start the music.

Yuuri’s ability to move as though music was a very part of him was tenfold on the ice.  Viktor found himself entranced, drawn in by the way Yuuri’s body sang in time to the music, as if he were floating on air. The tune rang out in plaintive tenor as Yuuri reached out, incomplete, as if he were dancing half a duet.

 _Stammi vicino_.  Stay close to me.  As Viktor watched, not daring to tear his eyes away from this, Yuuri’s message for him and him only, as Yuuri spilled his heart out once more, this time on the ice, this time more visceral and sincere and heartbreaking.

Viktor wished he’d brought his own skates, wished he could join him, so sad and vulnerable and _beautiful_ on this stage.  Instead he could only stare, yearning for more of him, wondering if there was anything he could do to bring him comfort.  

And as Yuuri spun into his final pose, reaching out for something outside of himself, something just beyond his reach, Viktor could see the tears streaming down his cheeks, a sob shaking his shoulders as he caught his breath.

“Yuuri…” Viktor murmured, tears springing to his own eyes as the other man skated back towards him, arms outstretched.  As they came together, Viktor pulled him close, enveloping him as Yuuri broke down in his arms. “Yuuri, it’s ok, I’m here… God… I’m not great with people crying in front of me…”

“No, Viktor…” Yuuri cried, “No, it’s fine.  It’s perfect, actually. Thank you.”

Viktor didn’t know what else to say as Yuuri looked up at him, his expression softening a little.  Yuuri pushed his glasses up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. And then, without another word, Yuuri turned and retreated to the bench to change back into his shoes.

Viktor hovered close by, unable still to look away even after the performance was over, unsure if he should help or hold or what.

He thought maybe just his company would be enough.  Yuuri seemed to boil next to him, reckoning with some private struggle, but one he’d chosen to entrust with Viktor all the same.

He packed up in silence before rising to his feet, bending down briefly to leave a gentle kiss on Viktor’s forehead.  His lips were plush and soft, sticking a little to Viktor’s bangs as he straightened. His eyes were nothing short of adoring as he brushed his thumb across Viktor’s cheek.

“Thank you, Viktor, for showing me life and love,” he murmured.

“What? Yuuri…”

But before Viktor could figure out what to say, Yuuri slung his rink bag over his shoulder and turned back toward the door.

“Wait!” Viktor croaked, reaching out towards the lithe figure as he retreated, hoping he could prolong their evening just a little more.  

“I wish I could stay, Viktor, but I can’t.”

“Why?” Viktor pleaded, rising to his feet as he threw on his coat.  “Let me walk you back, at least!”

“No, I need… I need to do this,” Yuuri insisted.  “I promise that this will all make sense soon. Goodbye, Viktor.”

And then he turned and walked out the door, and somehow Viktor knew it wouldn’t be right to follow.

He let Yuuri Katsuki go out into the night, and he hoped to god they’d meet again. Something told him they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait! Didn't I say there were 8 chapters???
> 
>  
> 
> Haaaaa keep an eye out in the next few days for the epilogue for some tying up of loose ends and the return of a character we haven't heard from in a while....
> 
>  
> 
> (As always, comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated - I love to hear what you have to say!)


	8. Epilogue

_  
_ _i was talking to a moth_ _  
_ _the other evening_ _  
_ _he was trying to break into_ _  
_ _an electric light bulb_ _  
_ _and fry himself on the wires_ _  
_ _  
_ _why do you fellows_ _  
_ _pull this stunt i asked him_ _  
_ _because it is the conventional_ _  
_ _thing for moths or why_ _  
_ _if that had been an uncovered_ _  
_ _candle instead of an electric_ _  
_ _light bulb you would_ _  
_ _now be a small unsightly cinder_ _  
_ _have you no sense_ _  
_ _  
_ _plenty of it he answered_ _  
_ _but at times we get tired_ _  
_ _of using it_ _  
_ _we get bored with the routine_ _  
_ _and crave beauty_ _  
_ _and excitement_ _  
_ _fire is beautiful_ _  
_ _and we know that if we get_ _  
_ _too close it will kill us_ _  
_ _but what does that matter_ _  
_ _it is better to be happy_ _  
_ _for a moment_ _  
_ _and be burned up with beauty_ _  
_ _than to live a long time_ _  
_ _and be bored all the while_ _  
_ _so we wad all our life up_ _  
_ _into one little roll_ _  
_ _and then we shoot the roll_ _  
_ _that is what life is for_ _  
_ _it is better to be a part of beauty_ _  
_ _for one instant and then cease to_ _  
_ _exist than to exist forever_ _  
_ _and never be a part of beauty_ _  
_ _our attitude toward life_ _  
_ _is come easy go easy_ _  
_ _we are like human beings_ _  
_ _used to be before they became_ _  
_ _too civilized to enjoy themselves_ _  
_ _  
_ _and before i could argue him_ _  
_ _out of his philosophy_ _  
_ _he went and immolated himself_ _  
_ _on a patent cigar lighter_ _  
_ _i do not agree with him_ _  
_ _myself i would rather have_ _  
_ _half the happiness and twice_ _  
_ _the longevity_ _  
_ _  
_ _but at the same time i wish_ _  
_ _there was something i wanted_  
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

 

_-”the lesson of the moth” by Don Marquis_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Epilogue

 

The wind bit at Yuuri’s cheeks as he dragged himself out into the night, screwing up his will against the persistent urge to turn around, to run back to Viktor and whisk him away from the strange, cruel fate that had brought them together.

But he knew it was futile. Viktor did not know him at the start of the week—even the start of the _day_ —and nothing he could try to pull now could rewrite that.

His head was throbbing; the champagne was starting to shed its redeeming effects in favor of the hideous aftermath that followed. All he needed now was to crawl back to his hotel room and let Celestino guide him, the empty shell left behind from a Yuuri who had learned to _live_ , back to Hasetsu to live with his family and the memory of how he’d almost had it all.

But as he turned the corner back onto the street that had brought him to the rink barely half an hour before, he found himself face to face with an old friend.

“Y-Yurio?” he stammered, hiking his rink bag up on his shoulder as the teen, leaning casually against a street lamp as if the temperature wasn’t in the _negatives_ , pushed himself to his feet and started toward Yuuri.

“You get your closure, Katsudon?” Yurio drawled, and there was something decidedly darker in his features here in the near-twilight of the Sochi streets. “You sure made a hell of a show of yourself, for someone who is supposed to be dead.”

“What? Yuri, what are you—“

“Please save it,” Yurio spat. “Do you _really_ believe a _kiss_ could just rewrite a fixed point in time, Katsudon?”

“The contact gave Viktor abilities,” Yuuri mumbled, shrinking back from the teen as he tried to skirt around him, to start walking back. “I thought maybe it could have shorted out the time differential between—“ The incredulous, almost piteous look on Yurio’s face shut him up as he tried to explain away the unexplainable, something he’d puzzled over ever since Beijing. As he trailed off, Yurio’s joyless laugh struck him square in the chest, colder even than the winter night. “Yurio, why are you here?”

“That compulsive old man that’s still in there trying to figure out who you are? He could have pulled off what he was supposed to do if it weren’t for that stupid stunt you pulled tonight,” Yurio growled, refusing to give up he place in Yuuri’s path. “Closure? Seeing him one more time? _You aren’t even supposed to exist right now!”_ he shouted, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings. “If it weren’t for you, Yakov wouldn’t have had to send Otabek to clean up Viktor’s fucking mess. But somehow, Piggy, you’re still here and Beka is fucking _dead!_ ”

The dull ache in Yuuri’s temples was escalating to an unbearable pain as he tried to make sense of his friend’s rage.

Yurio _was_ his friend, right?

“My boyfriend is dead because your fucking husband had to go and stop him from fixing his mistakes, from doing what has to be done,” Yurio continued, his tone a little less volatile. “Do you understand what that is?”

“No!” Yuuri cried, stomping a foot in frustration. “I don’t understand any of this!”

“ _You_ didn’t fix a fixed point in time, Katsudon, you know who did? _I_ did. I am. Right now. The only way I can in order to prevent that time collapse.” Yurio’s hand shot out at him then, grasping Yuuri’s arm in a painfully strong grip. “What happened to _you_ when that cataclysm started?” He asked. “D’you fall forever in Viktor’s fucking arms? Because I watched my body crumble for an eternity before it righted itself, and I dream about it every night.”

Yuuri felt a lump form in his throat as the reality of what Yurio was telling him sunk in.

“That day affected everyone. And you know what? Unless you come with me, come to fulfill the fixed point, it will happen again. Forever, this time. To your family, and your friends. Every child, every creature who has nothing to do with your selfish love story.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he argued, “why did you help us, then?”

“I helped you until Viktor killed Beka,” Yurio growled. “I have no sympathy now. This story could have been one where you were a martyr for the sake of Roamers everywhere. But since you two don’t have an ounce of self-control between the two of you, I will switch it up. The new story is called, ‘Yuri saves the world,’ and it involves me taking you to Beijing to finish what Viktor could not. Either you make it easy for me or I will make it hard for you.”

Yuuri sighed. “Yurio, you don’t need to do this as an adversary,” he said. He was tired. “Let’s work together.”

“You really aren’t going to fight me?”

“No,” Yuuri laughed, letting his bag drop to his feet. “No, I’ll go. I accepted this a long time ago, Yurio. I have lived selfishly since I met Vitya, and I don’t regret a thing.”

“You know what I’m asking you to do?” Yurio asked, his tone darkening, his eyes set and serious.  “Do you really understand?”

“You’re asking me to go back to Beijing,” Yuuri responded.  “You’re asking me to die, on that day, in Beijing, like I was supposed to.”

Yurio swallowed hard.  “I told you not to make this fuckin’ hard for me, you bastard,” he sniffed.  Yuuri could only laugh again.

“Come on,” he said.  “If a failed assassination and a whirlwind of crazy mix-ups can lead to love, if I can have lived an eternity and still be standing here, this world must be a beautiful and terrifying place.  We should go save it. You and me.”

 

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off I go to do my fluff penance. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I couldn't have done this without everyone's love and support.
> 
> I promise nothing but fluff for the next few months.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's my Tumblr,](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [and here's comeonandrockmyfandom's tumblr!](http://comeonandrockmyfandom.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Don't forget to check out all the great works for the Victuri Big Bang 2018!](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com)


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